


Of Scheming, Sedition, and Space Pirates

by fflewddur_feanorion



Series: Maedhros Feanorion: Space Pirate [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aredhel is a good sister, Elrond is a cat, Fingolfin is trying, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sort Of, also Argon exists!, and the Nolofinwions are ground crew, no i don't know why, probably waaay too much fluff, some Russingon because why not, the Feanorions are on the ship, the martian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fflewddur_feanorion/pseuds/fflewddur_feanorion
Summary: Maedhros is supposed to be dead.After a freak storm hits, the Feanorions are forced to leave Mars and head home early. Unfortunately, Maedhros is hit by a piece of shrapnel and injured. Believing him to be dead, the crew leaves without him.There's only one problem: He's actually alive.Will Maedhros survive until help arrives? Will Fingon and the rest of NASA be able to rescue him? Will the other six Feanorions make it back to Earth without dismembering each other? Will Argon ever get some sleep? It just might take a miracle.
Relationships: Aredhel & Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Aredhel & Fingon | Findekáno, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Sons of Fëanor
Series: Maedhros Feanorion: Space Pirate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951003
Comments: 28
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is sort of a Martian AU. I haven't read the book in months, so I might mess up the storyline. (Right now, I'm basing this on a Goodreads summary.)  
> I don't own any of these characters-- the characters own ME.

Maedhros was totally and completely fucked.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was the last in Eris’ line of succession. He’d only be in command if everyone else was dead, incapitiated, or off-planet.

Well, what do you know? He was in command.

At least he wasn’t dead. Yet. He was in reasonably good health, except for a minor stab wound caused by the flying antenna that had busted his suit and landed him in this situation. Still, if he didn’t miracle up enough food and water to sustain him until the next Mars mission arrived, he’d starve to death. If the Hab, his temporary home, blew up, he’d die in a sandstorm. And if his EVA suit broke again, he’d asphyxiate.

Feanor would know what to do, Maedhros thought absently. His father would have no problem coming up with a plan to grow food. Hell, he’d probably build his own spaceship and fly back to Hermes on his own.

But Maedhros wasn’t a genius. He was the ship’s botanist, and there weren’t any plants on Mars. There was hardly even any dirt. Just rocks, rocks, and more rocks as far as he could see.

Maedhros sank down in his chair and tried to calm down. This was fine. If he could survive until Ares 4, he’d be rescued. All he had to do was stay alive...

Alone, on an uninhabited planet... 

For four years.

Great.

***

The crew of Eris was in shock.

Maglor, the captain, was blinking back tears. Celegorm stared off into space, his eyes glazed over, not fidgeting for once. Caranthir stalked across the deck, glaring at anyone and anything in his way. Curufin appeared to be reading one of his chemistry books.  
He’d been reading the same page for three hours.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Amrod told Maglor. “We couldn’t stay behind any longer--we all would have died. You did the right thing.”

Maglor didn’t reply. 

“Seriously,” Amras said. “None of us blame you.”

“I killed him,” Maglor whispered. “I killed him. So don’t you dare tell me I did the right thing.”

“You didn’t kill him! His vitals shut off ten minutes before we left. There’s no way he could have survived that long without oxygen.”

“Still. We could have-- I could have--”

“Maglor.” Celegorm cut his brother off. “He. Is. Dead. Can you just shut the hell up so I can fly this thing?

Caranthir glared at him. “How can you be so blunt? We just lost one of our crew, and here you are acting like you don’t even care--”

Celegorm turned around and punched him in the face. Then, several things happened at once.

Caranthir fell backwards, landing on Curufin, who jumped up and hurled his book at the back of Celegorm’s head. The book smacked into a panel of buttons, and Eris went into a nosedive. Tools and equipment slid across the deck. The fire extinguisher came loose and rolled downwards, spraying Caranthir with a deluge of white foam.

“Shit!” Celegorm turned back to the console and started messing with it. Eventually, the ship leveled out and continued its course. Caranthir, who now resembled a large angry snowman, glared at his brothers. “See, that wouldn’t have happened if--”

Maglor snapped out of his trance. “Everyone STOP IT!”

The crew of Eris stopped in their tracks. Maglor almost never yelled at people. “Look at yourselves,” he growled. “We’ve only been without Maedhros for thirty minutes and we’re already at each others’ throats. We have to get along somehow, or we’ll die before we get to Hermes.”

Maglor extended his hand. The Ambarussa understood immediately and stacked their hands on top of his. Grudgingly, the rest of his brothers put their hands in-- even Celegorm, who was still technically piloting their ship.

"No killing, maiming, or antagonizing each other until we've boarded Hermes. Okay?"

Nods.

"Swear it."

"We swear," everyone chorused. Well, everyone except Celegorm, who said, "Alright, fine! What is this, some kinda medieval oath thing?"

Amras picked up the fire extinguisher and returned it to its place, while Curufin tried to wipe some of the foam off his brother’s face. Maglor wondered who on Earth had decided to put all seven Feanorion brothers on the same ship.

Six brothers, now. Unbidden, a few tears slipped down Maglor’s cheeks. 

That would take some getting used to.

***

“Do you even realize how much of a PR disaster this is gonna be?” Aredhel yelled. 

Fingolfin sighed and popped another Advil in his mouth. He’d had a killer headache since four in the afternoon, when the message had come in from Eris. “Look, Ireth, I know this looks bad, but . . .” 

“Don’t call me that. I know it looks bad, Dad! My whole job is to make sure things don’t look bad!”

“I know that. Everything will work out eventually-

“Eventually? I have to give a press release in twenty fucking minutes, every major news station in the world will want to know all the details-- which we don’t even have, by the way-- and I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours. I can’t wait around for eventually. Also, one of us needs to tell Fingon about this, and it is not going to be me.” Aredhel slammed her clipboard down on Fingolfin’s desk. “How many Advils have you taken today?”

“Um, five or six, I think. Why? Is that bad?”

“You’re going to poison yourself. Don’t.” Aredhel scooped up her clipboard and sprinted out the door. Fingolfin wondered how she could move so fast in those heels.

Then he picked up his phone and called Fingon.

“Dad, can you hold for a moment?” Fingon said absentmindedly. “I’m really busy right now.”

“Finno . . . I’m sorry, but this is important.” His dad sounded a little choked up, but it was probably nothing. (Fingolfin had a bad habit of talking with his phone much too far away from his mouth. Fingon couldn’t believe it-- the man was director of NASA and still couldn’t operate a cell phone.)

“Ok, what is it?”

“We got a message this morning from the Eris crew,” Fingolfin said. “They… they said that…”

“What?” Fingon’s stomach twisted in anticipation. It couldn’t be that bad. The crew had only just landed on Mars, and they had the most advanced equipment in the world. 

“There was a bad storm,” Fingolfin continued. “The crew had to grab their samples and leave, only… only one of the crew members was hit by a piece of debris and killed. They had to leave his body on Mars.”

“Who was it?” Fingon asked. No matter what, the answer couldn’t be good. He knew all of the Feanorion brothers personally. Still, as long as it wasn’t…”

“Maedhros.” Sigh. “I’m so sorry, Fingon. I know you two were . . .”

Fingon dropped his phone. It hit the ground with an ominous crack, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Maedhros was gone. And there wouldn’t even be a body, not until Ares 4 landed. 

He should probably be crying, Fingon realized dimly. Crying was what you did when people died, wasn’t it? But for some reason, his eyes were still dry. 

He looked back at his computer screen. Taped to the corner was a photo of all seven Feanorion brothers, grinning as they waited to enter their ship. His eyes landed on Maedhros-- because when did they ever not? 

There he was, traffic-light-red hair falling out of its ponytail, smiling self-consciously at the camera. Beautiful. Always beautiful.

Fingon got up, walked calmly around his desk, and vomited into the trash can.

Argon found him there about five minutes later, still slumped over the trash can. “Fin . . . Finno, what happened?”

“Maedhros,” Fingon choked out. “There was a storm. On Mars. They… he…”

Argon, bless him, put the pieces together almost immediately. “Oh, Finno. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Fingon asked. “Why him? He never did anything wrong. He wouldn’t even skip out on training sessions, because it made him feel too guilty--” And now he was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. He felt like a leaky faucet.

“The world is a shitty place, kiddo,” Aredhel said matter-of-factly. She’d somehow materialized right next to him. “I’m going to help you sit on the couch, ok? No offense, but that trash can smells horrible.

“‘m your older brother,” Fingon sniffled. “You don’t get to call me kiddo.”

“I do now.” Aredhel guided Fingon over to the couch. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh . . . I dunno.” He’d had a lot of coffee today. Did that count as food? “I had a sandwich last night.”

“It’s almost dinnertime. Argon, go get him something edible. Preferably with chocolate.” Aredhel shoved her youngest brother out the door and locked it. “We’ll figure this out. Maybe not right now, but you will get through this shit, Finno.” 

“You sound like Dad,” Fingon mumbled.

“I do, don’t I?”

“I should probably call him back.” Fingon grabbed his phone from the floor. The screen was badly cracked. “Also, I think I totaled my phone.”

“You only say totaled for cars, dumbass.”

There was a knock on the door. “Ireth, did you lock me out?” Argon called. “I brought donuts.”

Aredhel eyed the door suspiciously. “How’d you get them so fast?”

“Ah, about that… I may have stolen them from some engineers.”

“Which engineers?”

“Um.” Argon sounded a bit queasy. “Feanor and Finarfin.”

“Oh, you’re dead,” Aredhel said gleefully. “Come on in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros finds some awful music, Argon makes an important discovery, Fingolfin is way too tired for this, and Feanor has anger issues.

Maedhros figured he had two choices.

One: give up. The Hab’s first aid kit contained a lethal dose of morphine. No matter what, he wouldn’t just sit here and starve to death.

Two: find a water source, figure out how to grow more food, and somehow survive until the Ares 4 mission landed. Of course, he’d have to actually get to the Ares 4 landing site, which would take a mere fifty-four days by rover. 

He’d also have to find some way to stay sane for four years. Alone. On a deserted planet. The communication disk was broken, so he couldn’t talk to Mission Control either.

Maedhros had never really been alone before. Most of his brothers (all of them, really, except for Caranthir) had no concept of personal space. Even when he’d gone to college, they video-chatted constantly. Then the whole family ended up working at NASA. So he’d never gone more than a few days without talking to his brothers or Fingon.

God, he missed Fingon. 

They’d known each other for Fingon’s whole life-- even though Feanor and Fingolfin hated each other, they still showed up to family reunions. Still, Maedhros and Fingon weren’t supposed to become friends.

Or text each other constantly, even when they went to separate colleges.

Or fall in love.

But when had Fingon ever done what he was supposed to? If Fingon were here, he wouldn’t give up. He’d do whatever it took to survive and find his way home.

Maedhros decided to look through his brothers’ things. Each crew member had two EVA suits, which amounted to… thirteen working suits. Unfortunately, Maedhros towered over most of his brothers. Only Celegorm’s and maybe Maglor’s suits would fit. So, five suits.

He looked through the personal items. Because they’d be in space for months on end, the crew had been allowed to bring a few things.There were some fantasy books (Amrod and Amras), yarn and knitting needles (Caranthir), a ukulele (Maglor), Curufin’s laptop, and… oh, no. Celegorm’s awful collection of disco music. 

Maedhros considered throwing the tapes out the window. Then he remembered that the Hab didn’t have any windows. He put Celegorm’s things away and walked over to the Hab’s small fridge, which was full of freeze-dried meals… and six whole potatoes.

Potatoes!

According to the original trip schedule, the Feanorions were supposed to spend Thanksgiving on Mars. NASA had supplied them with potatoes (to give them a more “authentic holiday experience,” according to Fingolfin. Feanor had dismissed this as a “stupid moronic idea.”) Well, however it had come about, Maedhros now had six potatoes, which he could hopefully use to grow several thousand more potatoes.

Maedhros hunted around and found two pop tents, which he set up near the rovers. Inside the Hab, he cleared off every inch of available floor space, along with his brothers’ cots and the big table. Later, he’d cover these spaces with dirt and plant as many potato seeds as possible. Hundreds and hundreds of potatoes.  
Well, at least he’d brought some ketchup.

***

Argon was bored.

Very, exceedingly bored.

His siblings all had such exciting jobs. Aredhel got to talk to news crews all day, Turgon was an engineer, and Fingon was an astrophysicist. Meanwhile, Argon was stuck in front of a monitor for eight hours a day.

He checked his watch. It was 3:49 AM. Argon rubbed his eyes. His shift was almost over-- in a few more minutes, he could go home and sleep.

Argon looked back at the monitor, which showed a picture of the Eris crew’s abandoned compound. The Hab appeared to be in fairly good shape, and the pop tents-- 

Huh. Last time he checked, there hadn’t been any pop tents.

Argon clicked back to a picture from a few hours ago. Yep, the pop tents weren’t there.

Click. Pop tents.

Click. No pop tents.

Huh. Argon forced his sleep-deprived brain to put two and two together. The pop tents had been set up, which meant that someone had deliberately set them up within the past three hours.

And the only person capable of doing so was dead. 

What the hell. Argon picked up his phone and dialed Fingolfin. “Hey-- Dad? You really need to see this.”

***

It was four in the morning. Nothing important should ever happen at four in the morning.

Well, Fingolfin’s addled brain decided, at least his horrible day was over. On to a new horrible day! Oh, joy.

Yesterday had been a complete train wreck-- first the Eris disaster, then the press conference disaster, then the Fingon disaster, then something about Aredhel and donuts. And now Fingolfin was getting phone calls at four in the goddamn morning.

“Alright, who the heck is this?” he growled.

“It’s Argon, Dad. Check the caller ID.”

“Why the heck is this? I mean, why the heck are you calling this? I mean . . .” Fingolfin sighed in exasperation. “You know what I mean.”

“Don’t freak out, Dad.”

“Why would I--”

“Maedhros is alive! I don’t know how, but he’s alive. For now, anyway. He’s moved the rovers closer to the Hab and set up both pop tents. There’s no way a storm could have done that.”

Fingolfin made a noise akin to an angry pterodactyl. 

“Dad? Are you still on the line?”

“Yes-- yes. Argon, are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t, would I be calling you at four in the morning, when I know you didn’t go to sleep until two hours ago?”

“N-no. I’ll call Aredhel.” Fingolfin hung up, then ran his fingers through his hair. He felt a headache coming back.

Maedhros was alive. Miraculously, he’d survived the storm.

But it would take another miracle to bring him home alive, and Fingolfin wasn’t the type to believe in miracles. He believed in science and facts, and that was it.

Fingon would be devastated, he thought as he dialed Aredhel’s number. Why couldn’t these things happen at a reasonable hour? Or, better yet, why did these things have to happen at all?

***

“Are you fucking KIDDING ME?” Aredhel exploded. 

Fingolfin sighed. “Aredhel. I have woken up at four in the morning three times in my entire life. The first time, I needed to oversee a rocket launch, and the second time, Lab 4 was in danger of exploding. Would I be awake right now if I wasn’t serious?”

“No. Seriously, though. I just got done telling all the major news stations that Feanorion is dead-- now I’ve got to admit that not only is he alive, he’s stranded. On Mars. Alone.”

“But aren’t you glad he’s alive?”

Aredhel sighed. “Of course I am! But-- never mind. I’ll work something out.” She put down her phone.

Aredhel was happy. Still, a small twisted part of her wished that Maedhros had just stayed dead. In the original press release, she’d been able to make him look like a hero-- a brave space pioneer, killed in the line of duty. The press ate it up, just like she’d known they would.

But now that Maedhros was alive, Aredhel’s job was much more complicated. The team at NASA had stranded an astronaut on Mars, where he would almost certainly die. How was she supposed to turn that into a noble deed?

And… Aredhel knew her brother. Fingon would be devastated. He’d get his hopes up-- because he always did, he was always so optimistic-- but then Maedhros would die, and he’d be shattered.

How could she do that to him?

How could she not? Aredhel was a pretty good liar, but she could never lie to Fingon.

She sat down at her computer and started typing.

***

Fingolfin had been dreading this conversation all day. He’d known it would involve a lot of screaming, and possibly a few death threats. The moment Feanor picked up the phone, he knew he was right.

“What. The. Actual. Hell,” Feanor yelled. “First you tell me that my son is-- is dead on a deserted planet.” His voice faltered a little on the word dead. “Then you tell me that he’s alive, but unreachable, and will probably die within a few months. And now you won’t even tell his brothers that he’s alive? You must be out of your goddamn mind!”

Fingolfin glared at the phone. “We here at NASA administration believe that--”

“Cut the bullshit,” Feanor snapped. “My sons are… very co-dependent, and Maedhros and Maglor are especially close. If you don’t tell them that he’s alive, Maglor is almost certainly going to lose his mind. Is that what you want?”

Silence for a moment.

Then Feanor’s voice again, so soft that Fingolfin could barely hear it. “You just don’t know what it’s like to lose family.”

“Yes I do. Shut up. The astronauts can’t be distracted--”

“Well, they’re already pretty fucking distracted!” Feanor paused. “Wait. What did you say?”

“None of your business,” Fingolfin said icily. “We are not telling the crew, and that is final.”

“They’re not just the crew, you usurping little bastard, they’re my SONS!”

Fingolfin hung up. A few seconds later, the fire alarm went off. 

Well, wasn’t that just wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things about this AU:  
> \- Feanor and Fingolfin are stepbrothers. Feanor was director of NASA for a while, until he set something on fire. Then Fingolfin took over. Feanor is now an engineer. He loooooves his job, but hates Fingolfin.  
> \- Mae and Fingon have been dating for a few months, but were friends for a long time before that. Aredhel and Celegorm are also friends.  
> \- Turgon works with Feanor and kind of looks up to him, much to his father's dismay.   
> \- The Feanorions' ship is named after Eris, goddess of revenge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros plants potatoes, Aredhel comforts, Feanor is surprisingly helpful, and Fingon should never be allowed to drink anything caffeinated at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly follows the plot of The Martian. (Don't worry, it won't last.)

Maedhros was a botanist, and a pretty good one at that. He knew more about plants than almost anyone at NASA-- which was why he’d been surprised to be chosen for a Mars mission. “What am I gonna do, plant a garden on Mars?” he’d asked Fingon. “Not likely.”

Well, here he was, doing exactly that. And it was going very well. So far, he’d only run into two problems:

1\. He didn’t have enough water to irrigate the crops  _ and  _ survive.

2\. The Martian dirt was completely dead. It couldn’t be used for farming.

Compared to all his  _ other  _ problems, these two were relatively simple. He had lots of excess hydrogen from  _ Eris _ , and the Hab’s oxygenator was working fine. If he could combine the two elements without blowing himself up, he’d have plenty of water. 

Also, if he were able to combine the Martian dirt with some organic matter, it would probably come back to life. It wouldn’t be ideal, but he could definitely grow  _ something. _ But where could he get that much organic matter? All his food was freeze-dried, and besides, he needed it to  _ eat _ .

Maedhros thought for a moment. There was an easy solution-- although it wouldn’t be very pleasant. 

He could mix the dirt with shit. Literally. All of the crew members’ shit went into little airtight bags, which were piled outside the Hab. It would be good fertilizer, although it would smell absolutely  _ horrible.  _

Well, it  _ was  _ a life-or-death situation. Curufin had some earplugs-- maybe he could put them in his nose.

***

Fingon wondered what Maedhros was doing right now.

Probably doing his best to survive on an abandoned planet. Probably  _ not  _ sitting on his couch and bawling his eyes out for the second time this week.

Aredhel handed him some tissues. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s alive, right? That’s… better than the alternative.”

“I know,” Fingon said. His voice cracked. “But will he stay that way? He’ll be all alone for years. What if… what if he just gives up?”

Aredhel gave him a look. “Finno. You know Maedhros better than anyone else, except maybe Maglor. So tell me the truth. Is he the type to give up easily?”

“N-no.”

“Exactly. He loves those crazy brothers of his, and he loves you. You _know_ how I feel about the Feanorions, but Maedhros is the most loyal person I’ve ever met. He’ll do _literally anything_ in his power to get back to you. And in the meantime, what can you do?”

“Set up a rescue mission!” Fingon jumped up off the couch. “I’ll go talk to Dad right now!”

Aredhel held up her hands. “Whoa there. I was thinking more along the lines of  _ don't work yourself to death _ .”

“Bye!” Fingon pushed past her and dashed down the hallway. He came across a few people, but none of them gave him strange looks. (When Fingon got excited about things, he had a tendency to move very fast.) 

Finally, he made it to Fingolfin’s office and flung open the door. “DAD! We need to rescue Maedhros! If we send out a ship right now, we can get there in a few months. Or…” Fingon did some calculations in his head. “Doesn’t  _ Hermes  _ have some smaller ships on board? Like lifeboats or something? If we send one of  _ those _ , it’ll get to him in three or four weeks!” 

Fingolfin cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Finno, I know you want Maedhros to come home. We all do. But sending out another ship now, while we’re all working on Ares 4… it’s impossible. Maybe we could send out a probe with some food?”

“But… But Maedhros is going to  _ die _ !”

Fingolfin grimaced. “He  _ might  _ survive. Fingon, let’s be realistic. We can’t send out a rescue mission. If we do, we’ll get behind on Ares 4 and lose all our funding.” 

Fingon glared at his father. “What the hell? You seriously think that  _ losing our funding  _ is a bigger concern than losing an astronaut?” His eyes filled up with tears again. God, he was tired of crying.

Fingolfin’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then sighed and answered it.“Hello, you’ve reached NASA … Finno, you  _ know  _ I didn't mean it like that. Can we talk about this later?”

Fingon was already gone. 

“Dad said no, didn’t he?” Aredhel nodded sympathetically. “I thought he might.”

Fingon nodded. “He… he said we’d lose our funding if we sent out another mission. As if that even  _ matters _ when someone’s  _ life  _ is at stake!” He paused. “Why are you smiling?”

Aredhel grinned at him, a huge shit-eating grin. “Just think it through, Fingon. Who else can you go to for help? Who will do almost anything to defy our father?”

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ” Fingon began pacing back and forth. “You’re crazy. Three hours ago, he almost burned down the lab because of his emotional issues!”

“I know. If anyone asks, you didn’t get this idea from me.”

“You’re the  _ best. _ ”

“I know.” Aredhel stepped forward and hugged him. “Go bring him home, Finno.”

***

Ten minutes later, the door to Lab 4 slammed open. Feanor stood up, walked over to the door, and slammed it shut. “I’m busy. Go away _. _ ”

Someone knocked on the door. “Feanor? I know you're in there. I really need to talk to you.” 

Feanor recognized the intruder's voice-- it was Fingolfin’s eldest brat. The annoying one. Oh, joy. “Go. Away," he growled.

“But I need your help!” Fingon protested. “It’s about Maedhros.”

“Well, it sounds like your father has  _ that  _ all figured out. Now leave me alone.” Feanor turned back to his work.

“My father doesn’t know about this,” Fingon admitted. “Honestly, he’d probably fire me if he knew what I was doing.”

_ That  _ got Feanor’s attention. He opened the door a few inches. “Alright, what is it?”

“Dad won’t send out a rescue mission for Maedhros, so I’m going to make my own. Unfortunately, I don’t know shit about engineering, and I don’t have much influence around here.” Fingon shrugged apologetically. “So… I need help.” 

Feanor thought for a moment. Of course Fingolfin didn’t want to rescue his son-- the conniving bastard had always held a grudge against Feanor. Just today, he’d tried to fire him for incinerating _one_ little experiment! Of all the stupid, petty things to do!

Still, Fingon seemed to be telling the truth.  _ And _ he’d been smart enough to talk to Feanor instead of one of the other engineers. Feanor tolerated his coworkers well enough, but they would sell him out to Fingolfin in a heartbeat. 

“Fingon, is it?” 

“Yeah.”

Feanor opened up a new file on his computer. “Let’s be clear. I don’t like you Fingon, not one bit. But unlike  _ some  _ people here, I care about my son. So, I’ll help you. Do you have a plan?”

Fingon developed a sudden interest in his shoelaces.

Feanor sighed. “You don’t have a plan, do you?”

“Not at all.” Fingon hopped up and sat on the counter. “Um… we could ask the Chinese space administration for help. They had a probe-- what was it called? The  _ Taiyang Shen _ ?”

Feanor shook his head. “Not an option. The Chinese government doesn’t like me much. Did you know I was director of NASA for a few months?”

“No. I thought Dad took over when Finwe retired.”

“Well, during that time, I got into a disagreement with one of the Chinese officials. They wouldn’t lend us their shuttle, so… I  _ might  _ have set it on fire.”

Fingon choked on his spit. “You  _ what _ ?”

“I set their shuttle on fire.” Feanor grinned. He hadn't exactly  _ meant _ to commit arson, but the look on the official’s face had definitely been worth losing his job. “Anyway, they won’t let us use the  _ Taiyang Shen _ .”

“Well, then.” Fingon took a 5-Hour Energy drink out of his bag and slurped it down. His pupils dilated to the size of dimes. “How do you build a rocket ship?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we are off script! I feel like Fingon is even more impulsive than Rich Purnell, and would come up with a crazy rescue plan asap. 
> 
> (All of my space travel/Mars knowledge comes from the movie.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros blows himself up, Fingon makes a plan, Fingolfin is not good with cell phones, and Argon is the only sane person in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep last night and wrote the end of this chapter around 1 am, so hopefully it turned out ok

On day 42 of the mission, Maedhros blew himself up.

“It almost worked,” he muttered as he stumbled back inside the Hab. “I was  _ so close _ . So freaking close.” 

The potatoes needed water, so Maedhros had set out to make some. He’d built a small fire, using part of Maglor’s ukulele for fuel. (They weren’t supposed to bring flammable objects into space, but Maglor had been adamant about keeping  _ at least  _ one musical instrument, and… well, a ukulele was better than a piano.) Then, he attempted to combine the hydrogen and oxygen. 

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to account for the oxygen he was breathing in. The resulting explosion had ripped a hole in one of the pop tents-- and  _ almost  _ incinerated him. As it was, he had a few bruises and was covered in soot, but if he’d been standing any closer to the explosion…

Maedhros shook his head. He wasn’t going to think about that.

He patched up the pop tent with duct tape. It wasn’t the most orthodox method of repairing something, but it worked. (Because of course duct tape worked in the vacuum of space. Duct tape was magical and should be worshipped.)

Maedhros sighed and stepped back into the tent. He stared down at the dark red hybrid dirt. It looked almost natural, like he hadn’t spent five days creating it.

Wait. 

What was that?

Near the pop tent door, a small greenish shoot was poking out of the dirt. Maedhros stared at it in shock.

He was growing food. 

He was growing food, and he might actually  _ survive _ . “I can’t believe it,” he said to himself. “I mean… I had a plan, but I never really thought it would  _ work _ .” 

Maedhros had been talking to himself a lot lately. Mars was so quiet otherwise-- the only noises he heard were the hum of the oxygenator and the  _ drip, drip, drip  _ of the water reclaimer. (And Celegorm’s awful disco music.) He supposed it wasn’t exactly healthy to spend so much time talking to himself-- but it was better than not talking at all.

“Well,” he said. “I guess I need a new plan.”

***

“We are not building a rocket,” Feanor said. “That would take far too long to build-- and where, exactly would we hide it?”

“Oh.” Fingon hadn’t thought of that. “Well, what else could we do?”

“This was  _ your _ idea. You tell me.” Feanor looked at him expectantly.

Fingon thought for a moment. “Well, if we can’t build a rocket and we can’t borrow a rocket, we’ll have to use the ships we already have. So… hang on.” He grabbed Feanor’s notebook, which was lying on the table, and flipped it open to a new page. “This is Earth,” Fingon said, drawing a tiny circle. “This is Mars.” He drew another circle. “Now, obviously, this isn’t a scale drawing, but right now  _ Hermes  _ would be about… here.” A tiny dot between the two circles. 

“Okay.” Under any other circumstances, Feanor would have already disemboweled Fingon for touching his notebook-- but this was  _ important. _

“Now,” Fingon said, scribbling frantically, “if we were to turn  _ Hermes  _ around and send it  _ back  _ to Mars, it would get there in about… 150 days, give or take. They could go back to Mars, pick up Maedhros, and fly back to Earth together!”

“ _ Hermes _ is a space station. It’s not built for landings, and it’s definitely not built for takeoffs,” Feanor reminded him. 

“We could do a flyby!”

“Not unless  _ Hermes  _ has enough supplies for another 150 days in space, and Maedhros has a spaceship that can get him out of the Martian atmosphere.” Feanor sighed. “Maybe we  _ should  _ just build a rocket.”

“I’ll keep thinking about it,” Fingon said. (He'd somehow managed to get ink all over his hands--  _ and _ on his shirt. Feanor cringed.) “And I know you will, too.”

***

_ “Fingon? Finno? Please answer your phone.” _

_ “Fingon, I know you’re mad, but I have some good news. I talked to Manwë-- he’s the new administrator, remember?-- and we have a plan. We can send the Ares 4 pre-supply probe to Maedhros. It’ll have a lot of food, supplies, and a working radar system! It won’t be a rescue mission, but it’ll be pretty darn close.” _

_ “Fingon? I am calling Fingon, aren’t I? If this isn’t Fingon, sorry for all the voicemails.” _

***

“Dad, this is Argon,” Argon said. “And I don’t usually answer my phone in the middle of the day, because my shift lasts until 4 AM.”

“Oh, sorry! Can you find Fingon and tell him what I said?” 

“Okay,” Argon grumbled. “Sleep is for the weak, I guess.” 

***

Meanwhile, Maedhros was digging up a ball of highly unstable plutonium.

This went directly against one of the crew’s first training sessions, which had been titled “Don’t Dig Up The Big Ball Of Plutonium.”

If Maedhros was going to get to the Ares 4 landing site, he needed to practice taking multi-day trips with the rovers. Which meant that he’d have to spend the night in a rover without freezing to death. Which meant that he needed a sustainable heat source.

The RTG (or radioisotope thermoelectric generator, but only Curufin actually called it that) was buried eight feet underground. It took Maedhros the rest of the day to dig it up. (This much exposure to radiation couldn't possibly be healthy... but at this point, cancer was the least of his worries.)

Over the next few days, Maedhros attached the RTG to the rover, gathered supplies, and plotted a route to  _ Pathfinder.  _ It would take about twenty days-- about a third of the time needed to reach the  _ Ares 4  _ site. A good test run.

_ Pathfinder _ was an unmanned probe, built to carry a rover named  _ Sojourner. _ Unfortunately, its communication network had shut down in 1977. If Maedhros could repair it, he might be able to talk to NASA.

What would he tell them? They probably thought he was  _ dead _ … 

Maedhros hoped his brothers didn’t miss him too much. What if Maglor wouldn’t stop worrying? What if Curufin got lost inside his head, or Celegorm and Caranthir wouldn’t stop fighting, and it would be  _ all his fault  _ because  _ he  _ was the reason they were upset…?

Maedhros took a deep breath. He would fix  _ Pathfinder _ and talk to his brothers, and then everything would be fine.

***

Fingolfin, Fingon, Aredhel, Manwë, Argon, and Feanor were all bent over a map of Mars. 

It wasn’t a very large map-- Feanor kept elbowing Manwë in the face, and Fingolfin had to stand on a chair to see.

Fingon pulled a pen out of nowhere and started drawing on it. “So… according to the satellite images, he’s headed in  _ this  _ direction.”

“ _ Please  _ stop drawing on the map,” Manwë cautioned. “It’s the best one we’ve got.”

“He’s equipped the rover for a long trip,” said Feanor. “Probably two weeks or longer. He’s dug up the RTG and is using it as a heat source.”

Fingolfin fell off his chair. “He  _ what _ ? That’s incredibly dangerous!”

“Yeah, well, so is  _ surviving on a deserted planet _ !” Feanor hissed. 

Fingolfin turned bright red. “For the last time, it’s  _ not  _ my fault that--”

“Everybody shut up,” Argon said. “He’s clearly going to that big blue dot.”

Aredhel studied the map. “Oh my god. He’s right.”

“PATHFINDER!” Fingon shouted. “Mae’s going to  _ Pathfinder _ ! Argon, you’re a genius!” He tackled Argon in a hug, sending them both tumbling to the floor-- right on top of Fingolfin. “If he gets there, he’ll be able to use all of  _ Pathfinder _ 's equipment. It makes perfect sense!”

Aredhel nodded. “And I  _ finally  _ have something good to tell CNN!” 

“Why is everyone on the floor?” Feanor asked.

“I… er… I think I’ll leave now,” said Manwë.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros fixes a radio, Galadriel is amazing, ASCII code saves the day, and the entire staff of NASA behaves very unprofessionally.

_ Curufin would know what to do with this. _

Maedhros stared at  _ Pathfinder _ ’s broken radio. It looked… well, like a dusty old radio. Maedhros had no idea what was wrong with it. His only real area of expertise was botany, and this was definitely not a plant.

What would Fingon say? Maedhros could almost hear his voice:  _ "Mae, stop idealizing your brothers. You are more than capable of doing this-- now get off your ass and do it!" _

The imaginary Fingon sounded a bit strange. Maedhros wondered if he was slowly forgetting Fingon's voice. The thought terrified him more than he liked to admit.

Maedhros decided to take the radio apart. He found a few chips of rock that were lodged inside it, so he took them out. Reassembling the radio was much trickier-- he couldn’t remember where all the wires went, and nearly electrocuted himself twice-- but he figured it out in the end. 

The radio began humming with static.

“YES!” On an impulse, Maedhros hugged the  _ Sojourner  _ rover. “See, Curufin? Some things don’t take a computer genius!”

Now he’d have to wait several hours for NASA to receive the signal. Maedhros turned on some awful disco music. Waiting was surprisingly enjoyable when you weren't just waiting to die.

_ "You're  _ not  _ going to die!" _ said the imaginary Fingon.

***

“Galadriel?”

Finrod’s sister looked up from her computer screen. “What.” 

“I think I’m hallucinating. Can you pinch me?”

Galadriel leaned over and pinched his arm hard enough to leave a bruise. Finrod looked at his computer again. “Oh,  _ shit. _ ”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just got a signal from  _ Pathfinder _ , which doesn’t make any sense. One:  _ Pathfinder _ ’s radar has been broken for decades. Two: even if it wasn’t broken, no one could possibly be using it. Am I going crazy?”

Galadriel sighed. “You  _ really  _ don’t read the news, do you? Maedhros Feanorion is still on Mars. The crew thought he was dead, but… well, he isn’t. So it’s very possible that he drove to  _ Pathfinder  _ and fixed its radio. Now, come on. We’re taking this to Uncle Fingolfin.”

***

_ Beeeeeep. _

Maedhros jumped up.  _ Pathfinder _ ’s camera was swiveling back and forth, surveying his camp like a searchlight. He hadn’t touched the camera since fixing the radio, which meant… NASA was signalling him back!

Maedhros forced himself to  _ think.  _ How could he use the camera to communicate? He grabbed his notepad and scribbled down a message:

CAN YOU CONTROL THIS CAMERA? Y/N

Maedhros put the paper in front of the camera lens, along with two others reading YES and NO. He spent the next forty-five minutes trying to calm down.  _ Don’t get too hopeful, _ he thought.  _ It's better not to have any hope, because if you have it, you'll lose it again. And that will be worse, that will be so much worse…  _

The camera swiveled again, then stopped. It was pointing towards YES.

Okay.  _ Okay.  _ Maedhros could figure this out. If he made signs for every letter of the alphabet and put them in front of  _ Pathfinder's  _ camera, it would be impossible to tell which one the camera was pointing to. He needed something with less letters-- like a code.

Living with Curufin had its perks, Maedhros supposed. Sure, his brother wouldn’t shut up about computers, and once he'd spilled hydrochloric acid all over Maedhros' history textbook  _ without even apologizing _ , but at least Maedhros knew ASCII. ASCII was a number-to-letter code which only used sixteen numbers.

Maedhros set up the signs in a circle around  _ Pathfinder _ ’s camera. Over the next few hours, the camera pointed to letter after letter. Maedhros recorded them in his notebook.

H-O-W A-L-I-V-E?

IMPALED BY ANTENNA, Maedhros wrote. IT BUSTED MY SUIT. THE CREW THOUGHT I WAS DEAD. PLEASE DON’T BLAME THEM.

Maedhros waited a few more hours, but NASA didn’t respond. Eventually, he fell asleep.

***

Galadriel was on a mission.

Maedhros had been smart to use ASCII, but communicating with him through images took  _ hours. _ If Galadriel could hack into  _ Pathfinder _ ’s computer, the base would be able to email Maedhros messages instead. 

Galadriel put in her earbuds and started typing. Because the computer labs were located in between Fingolfin’s office and Lab 4, she could always hear the lovely sounds of explosions, arguing, and sometimes all-out brawling. Galadriel wasn’t an idiot-- she knew that playing loud music was bad for your hearing. Still, she figured it was better to have hearing problems in fifty years than to be driven insane in thirty minutes.

Because  _ Pathfinder _ ’s computer was several million miles away, it was hard to get a signal-- but Galadriel wasn’t the kind of person who gave up easily. Before she knew it, everyone was going home (except Fingon, who was working on some “top-secret project.” Honestly, that man would work twenty-four hours a day if he could.) 

Soon, Galadriel had a code that would allow her access to  _ Pathfinder's _ database. She spent the next few hours relaying the code to Maedhros, letter by letter. It took  _ forever _ \-- Galadriel did not pretend to be a patient person-- but at 11:15, she finally finished.

At 11:24, she picked up  _ Pathfinder _ ’s signal. By midnight, she’d hacked into its email. At 12:05, she tracked down Fingon. The two of them proceeded to everyone else, until Feanor, Fingolfin, Fingon, Aredhel, Turgon, Argon, Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod and Aegnor were all huddled around her computer.

“Look, I appreciate the sentiment,” Galadriel said. “But I can’t email  _ anyone  _ if I can’t even reach the keyboard.”

***

NASA: Hello.

FEANORION: Hi! Sorry about all this. I hope you aren’t too worried. I’m fine up here, although it’s a little quiet. I’m growing potatoes, and I figured out how to make water. I also kind of blew myself up, but everything’s fine now.

NASA: Oh, don’t you start. You have NOTHING to be sorry for, Mae. NONE of this is your fault! Also, last time you said you were “fine”, you wound up in the hospital with three broken ribs! So don’t think I believe you for one second. Also, how the hell are you growing potatoes on Mars? Isn’t it just… rocks? 

FEANORION: …Hi, Finno.

NASA: How’d you know it was me?

NASA: This is Fingolfin now. We’re all here-- me, Fingon, Aredhel, and the Finarfinians. You can thank Galadriel for this, by the way-- she’s the one who hacked into  _ Pathfinder _ ’s computer. We’re glad to hear that you’re alive and growing food. We’re going to send the Ares 4 pre-supply probe sooner than planned, to bring you food and supplies. We’re doing everything we can to make sure you survive until Ares 4.

FEANORION: Thank you guys. 

NASA: asdl;fkjsdal;fkjdlk

NASA: asdfgewqpoirupcvbnirfdh;;

NASA: LET ME TYPE FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND FINGOLFIN. Maedhros! I think everything’s been said already, but you’d BETTER stay alive. If you don’t, I will ground you until the END OF DAYS. 

FEANORION: Hi, Dad. I’ll try. Hey, can I talk to my brothers? Can this computer reach them? (Also, I don’t know how you did it, but thanks for setting this up, Galadriel.)

NASA: About that… we’ve decided not to inform the crew yet.

FEANORION: They still think I’m dead?

NASA: Yes. We decided that telling them would interfere with the mission. 

FEANORION: I can’t believe you guys. You’re just going to let them think I’m  _ dead _ ? I know my brothers, and Maglor worries about  _ everything. _ If he gets hurt because you withheld this information… well. I’m already stuck here. There’s nothing worse that can happen to  _ me _ . But if anything happens to  _ them _ , I swear… next time Feanor tries to burn down NASA, I’m not going to stop him.

NASA: This is Feanor again. I tried to talk them out of it! I really did! But they just  _ won’t listen. _ Also, Fingon says that he had nothing to do with that decision and that the board of directors is being idiotic. We know, Fingon. We know. FINGOLFIN, STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER.

FEANORION: Okay, guys. I have to go. Thank you for everything.

***

“You messed up,” Galadriel told Fingolfin.

"I messed up," Fingolfin said miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are Maedhros' emails being broadcast all over the world? Yes. Is Aredhel currently yelling at Feanor because he swore at Fingolfin during said broadcast? Also yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingolfin makes another mistake, Túrin has the worst luck ever, a wild Nerdanel appears, and Fingon sends a secret message.

“I’m telling you, we don’t have  _ time  _ to run all those safety checks!” Fingolfin snapped. “Maedhros is running out of food  _ as we speak _ , we’re already behind schedule, and the probe will take months to get to Mars!”

“But, Dad!” Turgon protested. “Sometimes we actually find something that needs to be fixed!”

“And how often does that happen?”

Turgon shrugged. “Not very often. But there’s always the possibility that something will go wrong.”

Fingolfin rolled his eyes. “Yes, and there’s a  _ possibility  _ that a hippopotamus will fall from the sky and squash me flat. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

Turgon was confused. “How would the hippo get in the sky?”

“It’s a metaphor, Turno. Just launch the damn thing.”

***

Two days later, Túrin Turambar stared intently at his computer monitor. This was his first time supervising a launch, and he wanted it to be  _ absolutely perfect. _

“All systems go?” he said into his microphone.

“Go.”

“Go.”

“Go.”

Túrin nodded. “Takeoff in ten. Nine. Eight.”

All over the world, people stared at their phones and TV screens, watching.

“Seven. Six. Five. Four.”

Fingon was practically bouncing with excitement. Even Feanor seemed slightly happier than usual.

“Three. Two. One.”

_ Iris _ zoomed into the sky, leaving a trail of flames and smoke behind it. In a few seconds, the ship was several hundred feet in the air. Túrin took a few steps back, satisfied. 

Then  _ Iris  _ tilted to one side. “Shit,” Túrin grumbled. “We’re gonna need to correct the course.” This wasn’t  _ too  _ bad, he reminded himself. He could still salvage the launch. At least  _ Iris  _ was still in one piece--

Two seconds later, _ Iris  _ exploded. 

Chunks of flaming shrapnel fell from the rocket’s carcass and plummeted back to earth. The launch crew, being sensible people, ran for cover. Aredhel and the news crew followed them. 

Túrin looked around at the other launch supervisors, who were all watching him expectantly. Like they wanted him to say something encouraging. Túrin had never been good at encouraging people.

“Well,  _ that  _ was a fucking disaster,” he said.

***

Fingolfin sighed. How could his day  _ possibly  _ get any worse?

First he’d accidentally drank some decaf coffee. Then he’d put his shoes on the wrong feet. Then  _ Iris _ had blown up, and  _ then  _ he’d had to deal with several dozen news reporters who asked way too many questions. By the end of the interview, he wanted to do something crazy-- like jump off a cliff, or challenge the devil to single combat. Was this how Feanor felt all the time? If so, Fingolfin pitied his stepbrother.

The reporters finally left, and Fingolfin collapsed in his chair. This was fine. He’d figure it out-- but first he needed a nap and some actual coffee.

Then, someone flung open the door. “FINGOLFIN FINWION. When, exactly, were you going to tell me that my son is stranded on fucking MARS?”

Fingolfin caught a glimpse of wild red hair and bloodshot eyes. Yes, he decided, his day  _ could  _ get worse. “H-hi, Nerdanel. Sit down, would you?”

Nerdanel took a deep breath and sat down. “I’ve always liked you,” she admitted. “Well, more than  _ he  _ does, at least. We might have been friends, I think, if things had worked out differently.”

Of course, they both knew who  _ he  _ was. Fingolfin braced himself for the worst.

“So naturally,” Nerdanel snapped, “I was a  _ little  _ surprised to learn that one, Maedhros is still on Mars, and two, you’ve known that information for  _ months _ . I got the details from a CNN article, Fingolfin.  _ CNN.  _ Do you know how that feels? A  _ news station  _ knows more about my own son than I do.”

“I… I thought Feanor told you,” Fingolfin stammered.

Nerdanel glared at him. “If you think I’m ever talking to that  _ bastard  _ again, you’re wrong.”

“Oh, right.” Fingolfin vaguely recalled an incident involving Feanor, an illegal experiment, the fire department, and a frying pan. “You two are divorced.”

“It’s been three years, Fingolfin. Get with the program. Anyway, is there anything  _ else  _ I should know?”

Fingolfin felt like a deer in headlights. “Well… Maedhros seems fine. He’s growing potatoes, did you know that? He’s also modified one of the rovers and repaired the old  _ Pathfinder  _ probe. One of our engineers, Galadriel, hacked into  _ Pathfinder _ ’s database, so we can communicate with him through email. That’s about it, I think.”

“And you’ll let me know if anything else happens?”

“Y-yes.” Fingolfin said. “If you’d like, you can send him a message. He’ll be sleeping right now, but he should respond within a few hours.”

“That would be great. Thank you.” Nerdanel stood up and headed for the door.

“Oh… and we haven’t told the crew about any of this yet, please don’t kill me,” Fingolfin said as quickly as possible, then shut the door and locked it.

“You WHAT?”

***

FEANORION: How’d the launch go?

NASA: We’re sorry.

FEANORION: Guys. What happened? What’s wrong?

NASA:  _ Iris _ blew up. There was a problem with one of the fuel tanks, and it caught on fire. We’ll be sending another mission as soon as possible, but that may not be very soon.

FEANORION: What do I do now?

NASA: You may have to ration your food until we can supply you with more.

FEANORION: But I’m already rationing.

NASA: We know. You need to ration more.

NASA: Hi, this is Fingon! Nerdanel showed up after the launch. I'm not sure what really happened, but I heard a lot of screaming. Long story short, she’ll be emailing you soon. Love you <3

NASA: Also, Aredhel is making me watch  _ Guardians of the Galaxy _ tonight. 

***

Maedhros stared at his computer screen. NASA had tried to be nice about it, but the truth remained:  _ Iris  _ wasn’t coming to save him. No one was.

He was probably going to die. But that was okay, wasn’t it? He’d known that already. Hell, he’d known it since the day of the storm. 

Maedhros' eyes landed on Fingon’s last message. It wasn’t unlike Fingon to blurt out random tidbits of information, but Maedhros knew for a fact that Aredhel didn't even  _ like _ action movies. What was Finno trying to tell him? And why couldn’t he just  _ say _ it?

Maedhros forced himself to think. The Ambarussa loved  _ Guardians of the Galaxy _ , but Maedhros thought it was a bit strange. One of the characters was a talking raccoon, after all. What was his name? Rocket?

_ Rocket. _ Fingon was telling him something about a rocket! Of course, Maedhros was probably being delusional, but just in case… 

FEANORION: Got it :)

"Fingon," Maedhros said to the empty Hab, "what the  _ hell  _ have you gotten yourself into?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just watched Guardians of the Galaxy for the 3rd time, and it SHOWS.  
> Also, I might write the frying pan divorce story later. Who knows?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feanor and Fingon plot, Elrond is a cat, Gil-Galad is the Responsible One, and Maedhros has worse luck than Turín Turambar. 
> 
> (Well, not really.)

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Feanor said. “We build a supply probe for  _ Hermes _ and send it to my sons. A few days before it reaches them, we’ll email them and explain the plan. They’ll pick up the supplies, turn around, and head back to Mars.  _ Hermes _ will fly very close to Mars, but not close enough to enter orbit.”

Fingon nodded. “But you said  _ Hermes  _ couldn’t land on Mars. How will Maedhros board it?”

Feanor smiled devilishly. “Just think for a moment. What does every Mars mission bring with them in case of emergency?”

“Oh!” Fingon’s arms flailed with excitement. “The MAV! Of course!”

The MAV was a small spaceship that astronauts used to leave Mars. Every mission had one, including Ares 4. Although the mission wouldn’t launch for several months, its MAV had already been planted at the Schiaparelli Crater. This would work perfectly, only… “The MAV isn’t designed to get out of orbit. It’s much too heavy.”

Feanor waved a hand in the air, unconcerned. “It’s fine. He can modify it, make it lighter and faster. Anyway, once Maedhros gets to  _ Hermes _ , Celegorm can turn the ship around and fly it back manually.”

“Are you sure?” Celegorm got distracted almost as easily as Fingon did. 

“Of course. He’s  _ my  _ son, isn’t he? Now, I’ll make some blueprints for the supply probe. You can figure out a course for  _ Hermes _ .”

“Whoa, hang on!” Fingon said. “What are we going to  _ call  _ it? The secret plan, I mean.”

“We don’t have time for this, Fingon.”

“But it’s a top-secret plan! It needs a name.” Fingon thought for a moment. “What about Project Elrond?”

“Elrond?” Feanor asked. “Isn’t that Maglor’s cat?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s a cool name,” Fingon said. “Oh. I hope Maglor has someone feeding his cats while he’s gone.”

“Fingon.  _ Focus _ .”

***

“Maglor?” Amras asked.

“Yeah?” Maglor drummed his fingers on the table like it was a piano keyboard. He didn't look up. He almost never looked up anymore, Amras realized. Was that a bad thing?

“Didn’t you used to have cats?”

“Oh, he did,” Celegorm grumbled. “I remember. The grey one nearly clawed my face off once.”

“Oh,  _ shit _ ,” said Maglor. “Cats have nine lives, right?”

***

Several states away, Gil-galad scooped some cat food into a bowl. “I’d better be getting paid for this,” he grumbled. “Honestly, can’t Maglor take care of his own pets for once?” Of course, the asshole hadn’t bothered to hire a cat-sitter, so Gil-Galad had needed to  _ pick the lock on Maglor’s door _ . Come to think of it, that was probably illegal. 

Elrond padded over to him and looked up expectantly. 

“I committed a crime for you,” Gil-Galad said to the cat. Elrond purred at him.

Well. Maybe this wasn’t  _ too  _ bad.

***

Maedhros picked up a marker and drew another mark on the Hab’s wall. So far, there were 174 marks. It was a silly thing to do, and pointless, but it made him feel better to keep track of time. Of course, the clock on his laptop no longer worked. He’d taken it outside once, where it had immediately shut down. Maybe he should write an angry review:  _ Brought product to the surface of Mars. It stopped working. 0/10. _

“Well, I made it another day,” Maedhros said, trying to sound cheerful. There was no one around for him to fool.

He should probably go outside and check on the rovers, make sure they hadn’t blown away. Maedhros headed towards the airlock door…

And then the world exploded.

Maedhros sat up and blinked. The sun was very bright, even for Mars. Also, his head hurt-- maybe he’d hit it on a rock. “ _ Ow.  _ What  _ happened _ ?” Oh, no. He’d done something wrong, he  _ must  _ have. What if he’d broken something, and now he could never go home, and he'd never see his family again… 

_ Focus.  _ Maedhros didn’t smell smoke, which was good. He wasn’t dead, and didn’t appear to be in immediate danger. Also good. Still, if he’d been thrown out of the airlock, there must have been  _ some  _ sort of explosion.

Wait. The airlock. Maedhros looked around and spotted a hole in the wall about the size of his head. It must have blown up. Which meant that the Hab was deoxygenated, which meant that--- “Shit,” Maedhros groaned. “Shit shit  _ shit _ .”

All of his painstakingly grown potatoes, his only real source of food, were dead. Gone. Maedhros sank down into the dusty, red, dead Martian dirt. Although Mars technically had weaker gravity than Earth, his suit seemed to weigh a hundred pounds.

It had happened again. He’d done everything he was supposed to, everything NASA had said to do. Then, just when he was beginning to hope that he wouldn’t  _ die  _ on this godforsaken rock, something went wrong and Maedhros was back at square one.

What would happen if he just… stopped? Just laid down in the dirt and took off his helmet. He’d asphyxiate in less than a minute, then get buried by the next dust storm. No one would ever find him. No one would even really  _ care.  _ He was just a figurehead now. A… a  _ mascot  _ for NASA, not someone important.

_ I care _ , said imaginary Fingon.

_ You’re not real, _ Maedhros thought back at him.  _ I’m imagining you, because I’m going insane. It’s as simple as that. _

_ Do I have to be real? _ Fingon giggled.  _ Are any of us actually real? Maybe life is just a hallucination, like in that one movie… what was it called? I forgot. Anyway. I still care about you, don’t I? _

_ Yep. I’m definitely going crazy. _ Maedhros laughed. It sounded more like a sob.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” he said to himself. “Get up. Find the duct tape. Fix the hole in the wall, and make sure it doesn’t blow up again. Then go talk to NASA. Only three things to do. That’s not so hard, is it?”

Maedhros got up. He glared at the never-ending Martian landscape. “ _ Fuck  _ you, Mars,” he growled. So what if the red planet seemed hellbent on killing him? So what if even NASA didn’t believe in him anymore? He’d show them. He’d show them  _ all _ .

“Inexplicably stubborn,” Fingolfin had once called his family. Well, maybe he’d been right.

***

FEANORION: My life now depends on eight pieces of duct tape. It’s ok, though. That stuff is supernatural.

NASA: …

NASA: Report. Now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros writes letters to his brothers. That's it. That's the chapter.

Hi, everyone.

I’m supposed to write letters to you all. To help my mental health, or something like that. I don’t know if you’ll ever get them, but here goes.

***

Maglor-

I hope you’re not worrying too much. I’m fine. Really. I remember how after Mom left, you just… zoned out. I don’t blame you, but please don’t do that now. 

I know this will sound cliché, and you hate clichés, but I miss you  _ so  _ much. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember-- always singing, even when you were barely old enough to talk. Mom used to say that you were born singing. (That’s not true. When you were angry, you sounded like a drowning cat.) I remember the time you sang the entire  _ Les Miserables _ soundtrack in one day, and almost passed out while trying to sing five parts at once. Curufin thought you were choking and tried to give you CPR. Then, Caranthir walked in, noticed you lying on the floor, and tried to call 911. Come to think of it, that was only a few months ago. I guess we really are a crazy family.

I’m rambling now. I hope you’re doing all right, and that the others aren’t making things harder for you. You really are an amazing captain-- we’re just the weirdest, stubbornest crew ever to make it through training. 

Also, I know we all gave you shit about it, but thank you for packing the ukulele! If you hadn’t brought that thing, I probably would have died. (I used it for fire fuel. Please don’t kill me.) 

***

Celegorm--

I know we don’t agree on much. (Anything, really.) I probably fight more with you than I do anyone else. But please, do one thing for me-- get everyone home safe. Try not to pick fights with Caranthir and Junior. I know it’s hard, but I also know you can do it. You made it through flight training when no one thought you could, not even me. Bring the others home safely, or so help me, my ghost  _ will  _ beat the shit out of your ghost.

I don’t think I’ve ever actually said this, but I love you. Even if some days I don’t  _ like  _ you very much, I still love you. 

***

Caranthir--

I’ve been thinking a lot lately. (There’s not much else I can do now.) Before the storm, I’d never been alone for more than two hours or so. That comes with being the oldest, I suppose. I’d never realized how lonely I could be without three or four family members following me wherever I went.

Then I realized. Is this why you’re so angry all the time? We all depend on each other more than is probably healthy, but we’ve also paired off over the years. Maglor and I spend almost all our time together. Celegorm and Curufin are roommates (though Lord knows how much longer  _ that _ ’ll last.) And the Ambarussa are… well. They’re the Ambarussa. I don’t even know how to talk about them separately anymore.

And then there’s you. You’re stuck in the middle, and now you’re stuck on a spaceship with brothers who either mostly ignore you, or pick fights with you. Maybe you’re not as social as I am, but you must get lonely sometimes. If I ever made you feel left out, I’m sorry about that. I think you’ve handled it pretty well, actually. Sure, you get angry, but you also channel that into projects. (Speaking of projects, how the heck do you  _ knit _ ? I’ve tried and tried to learn, but I just get tangled up in the yarn. Once I nearly stabbed my eye out with a needle.) Anyway, I hope you don’t feel too isolated. Go talk to Maglor-- he’s very good at moping and needs someone to snap him out of it. 

I can hear you right now.  _ “Ugh, stop being so sappy and go check the rovers or something. _ ” Yep, I should probably go do that. Bye.

***

Curufin, you little nerd.

You probably saved my life.

When you were little, we couldn’t believe how well you remembered everything. Names, faces, numbers, formulas, everything. Now, I was able to use those formulas to reach NASA and communicate with them. From freaking  _ space. _

I’ll tell you a secret. We all look up to Dad more than is good for us. You most of all. Hell, you’re even  _ named  _ after him. But you are just as much of a genius as he is. I even heard him say so once, after you made that computer program. What was it called? CLBRMBR? Something like that. He was looking at it after you’d gone to bed, and he said, “That kid’s gonna go far someday. Maybe even farther than I did.” He might have said something else, but it was almost 2 AM, so I fell asleep. (Because believe it or not, people actually need more than three hours of sleep per night. I’m looking at  _ you _ , Junior.)

Anyway. I just thought you should know that. I hope you’re doing well, and that the other two C’s haven’t been yelling at you too much. Also, talk to Galadriel when you get back. She hacked into  _ Pathfinder _ ’s computer from the Houston air base. I have no clue how she did it, but knowing you, you’d be interested.

***

Amrod and Amras--

Since you two are always together, I might as well write one letter for both of you. I’ve realized that everyone always refers to you as if you’re one person. Us, Mom and Dad, the Nolofinwions and Finarfinians, your teachers, the team at NASA,  _ everyone. _ We’ve done it ever since you were born, and I’m just now realizing that we never talked to you about it, never actually  _ asked  _ you if you’d like to be two separate people instead. 

Why am I bringing this up now? I’m not entirely sure. But I’d like you to know that you can do things on your own, if you’d like to. You’ll always have that weird twin-bond thing that none of us can really understand, but you’re both whole people. Not halves. 

Also. If Maglor is being mopey-- which I know for a fact that he is-- you two will become the sanest crew members. Make sure Celegorm stays focused, try to break up fights if you can, and do NOT let Caranthir near the fire extinguisher. Even if there's a fire. _Especially_ if there's a fire.

***

Well. That’s it, I think. If you get this, know that I love you guys, no matter what happens.

-Maedhros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Curufin is "Junior" to all his brothers. He hates the nickname, and everyone else loves it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingon makes a speech, Aredhel has a plan, the author brings in loads of cliches, Fingolfin and Feanor are actual responsible adults (just kidding) and the Feanorions hold a council of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about 90% dialogue and repeats the phrase "Fingolfin sighed" at least 6 times. You have been warned.

“Are you sure this will work?”

“This is space travel, not a sudoku puzzle,” Feanor said. "I'm never  _ sure  _ about anything."

“Yeah, but…” Fingon shrugged. “You know what I mean. D’you  _ think _ this will work?”

“If I didn’t, would I have done it in the first place?” Feanor sighed. “Look. I know it’s hard to believe, but I do care about my son. I’m… oh, fuck it. I’m scared too, okay?”

Fingon stared at Feanor in astonishment. “Am I hallucinating or something?”

“Unfortunately, no. Your clipboard is on the desk. The crew’s ready, and they’re all sworn to secrecy. Let’s go run those tests before someone catches--”

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something,” Fingolfin said from the doorway, “but what the actual fuck is going on?”

“I… we… uh…” Fingon couldn’t decide what to say. “I would say sorry, but I’m actually  _ not  _ sorry, and I don’t like lying to people.”

“Don’t blame the kid,” Feanor said. “It was my idea.”

Fingon was pretty sure he was going crazy. The Feanor he knew would  _ never  _ have said that-- Feanor hated his entire family. He would do  _ anything  _ to get them in trouble. Right?

“I don’t care  _ whose  _ idea it was,” Fingolfin snapped. “The fact remains: you two are building a… a  _ thing _ without my consent. Which, as I am sure you’re aware, is  _ illegal _ .”

“Oops?” Fingon suddenly felt very small and insignificant. “Um,  _ how  _ illegal would this be?”

“Well, because NASA is a government organization, I’m pretty sure you have committed treason.”

“Oh,  _ shit _ .” Fingon thought for a moment. “Is that… will I get my head chopped off or something? On a gee-- a gull-- a guillotine? I think that’s how you pronounce it.” He was rambling now. “I thought they didn’t do that anymore. Maybe they do, though, I don’t know much about--”

“Shut up,” Feanor advised.

Fingon shut up.

“What are you building?  _ No lying _ .”

“It’s a supply probe,” Feanor said. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, his eyes lit up. Feanor  _ loved  _ talking about his work. “For  _ Hermes _ . We were going to send my sons supplies. They’d pick up the probe, then turn the craft around and fly by Mars. Maedhros was going to modify the MAV and use it to reach them. Your boy did all the calculations. You have to admit, it’s a good plan.”

Fingolfin glared at his step-brother. “I don’t care how good it is. You  _ broke the law _ . Again. How many times will I have to bend the rules because you, a grown man, can’t control your temper?”

“I AM TOTALLY CONTROLLING MY TEMPER!” Feanor yelled.

Fingolfin’s face turned bright red. “No, you’re not!” he snapped. “You’re just a control freak with anger issues who… who drove your own  _ wife  _ away!”

Feanor's eyes flashed. “Don’t bring Nerdanel into this! You hate her! You hate all of us, you scheming little bastard!”

Feanor and Fingolfin were circling each other like two wolves. Both had completely forgotten about the supply probe, which was still at the docks, waiting to be launched. 

And this wasn’t the first time his family had screwed over NASA, Fingon realized. How many projects had been damaged or scrapped because Feanor and Fingolfin were squabbling and just  _ forgot _ about them? He looked around Lab 4. On a normal day, it was full of people working, comparing notes and drinking enough caffeine to kill a rhinoceros. Now, only a few frazzled-looking technicians were huddled in the back corner. His father and step-uncle had driven out everyone else. 

Fingon climbed onto the table and took a deep breath. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!" he yelled. "Will both of you just  _ shut up _ ?”

Feanor and Fingolfin froze. “How’d he get on the table?” Fingolfin muttered to no one in particular.

“Look at yourselves,” Fingon said. “You’re grown-ups, but you’re arguing like little kids. This isn’t a playground, it’s the goddamn National Air and Space Association. Dad, you’ve told me hundreds of times to be professional, but I think you need to follow your own advice! Just listen to me--  _ actually listen _ for once.”

Fingon pointed at his computer, where Project Elrond was still cued up. “Right now, we’ve got one astronaut stranded on Mars fighting for his life, plus six more on  _ Hermes _ , where they could run into trouble at any moment. On top of that, we’re working on another Mars mission. That’s a pretty big workload, no?

“But look at our compound. We’re a  _ mess _ , and don’t try to tell me otherwise. Aredhel and the PR team work around the clock trying to hide it from the public, but it’s true. Dad, Feanor, when was the last time you had a civil conversation? Twenty years ago?” Fingon glared at his father, then at Feanor. “Like I said, I don’t like lying to people. Maybe if the engineers actually  _ communicated _ with the rest of the board, maybe if you two didn’t terrify them into staying silent, maybe then Maedhros wouldn’t be stuck on Mars in the first place!”

Feanor looked like he’d been turned to stone. “Get off the table, Fingon,” Fingolfin said.

“You know what?” Fingon shouted. “No. I won’t. Feanor, I know that was a low blow, but it’s  _ true _ . You two aren’t angry teenagers anymore, you're adults with actual responsibilities. You literally hold people’s lives in your hands. So it’s about time you started  _ acting  _ like it.” 

“Hey, everyone.” Aredhel poked her head through the door. “Is everything okay? We heard… a lot of things.”

“Depends on your definition of  _ okay _ ,” Feanor grumbled. “Nothing’s on fire, though.”

“That’s good!” Aredhel smiled sweetly. “Finno, can you come out here? Someone wants to interview you!” Before Fingon could answer, she’d dragged him outside and shut the door.

“What was  _ that _ about?” Fingon grumbled.

Aredhel’s smile suddenly turned sinister. “Fingon. Honey. I’m in the PR department. I may be able to act like an airhead, but I can hear juicy conversations three miles away in a windstorm. Great speech, by the way. I recorded it.”

“You… how… what?” Fingon spluttered. 

“Also, while you were carrying on, I texted Elenwë. We have a plan to get  _ ever-y-thing _ running normally again.”

Fingon sighed. “What is it? Honestly, I’ll try anything at this point.”

Aredhel bounced up and down with excitement-- an impressive feat, considering that she was wearing heels. “You might know this already, but no one wants to interview you. It was just a ploy to get you out of the room.”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Fingolfin and Feanor were so busy standing around looking dumbstruck that they hardly even noticed me. Why do you think I'm everywhere at once? People don’t think it’s odd when I go places I shouldn’t. Anyway, I locked the door when we left, and I got Turgon to steal Feanor’s keys.”

“You  _ what _ ?”

“Just kidding.  _ I  _ took the keys. They should be realizing this right… about…”

“AREDHEL!” Fingolfin yelled from behind the door.

Aredhel nodded. “ _ Now _ . Elenwë told the whole department not to open the door. We’ll leave them in there for a few hours, then let them out. If they don’t sort their shit out by then, they never will.”

Fingon nodded. “Wait. You seem like you’ve done this before.”

“Poor Finno. So naive. Who do you think got you and Maedhros to actually talk about your feelings?”

“That was  _ you _ ?” Fingon stared at his sister in amazement. “We thought it was just bad luck.”

Aredhel raised her eyebrows. “Really? Maglor and I were so done with you two. All that pining and staring across the room and  _ oh, no, he’ll never love me back _ . It was like a really bad soap opera.”

“I feel like I should be mad at you,” Fingon admitted. “But for some reason, I’m not.”

“Welcome to the club,” Aredhel said. “So. What do you think they’re talking about in there?”

“Can you pick a lock?” Fingolfin asked.

“Can I? Yes. Will I do something just because you tell me to? No.”

Fingolfin sighed in exasperation. “We are locked in the lab. It’s  _ really  _ in your best interest to let us out.”

“This is my lab.” Feanor swiveled his chair around lazily. “You said it yourself-- I practically live here.”

“Fine. I’ll get someone else to let me out.”

Feanor raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? If your daughter is really behind this, she’ll have taken care of that possibility.”

“Can you stop being such an asshole for five seconds?” Fingolfin snapped. “Honestly, some days I think you just  _ don’t care _ about anyone else. We… we can’t keep up with you, so you leave us in the dust.”

“That’s very poetic. Listen up, Fingolfin, because I’m only gonna say this  _ one time _ . I do care. I care about my family. I care about Nerdanel even though she hit me with a frying pan. I care about my  _ sons _ \-- and I  _ worry _ , too _. _ I don’t even remember the last time I actually slept. I’m running on adrenaline, terror, and Tic-Tacs at this point, but I keep going. Why? Because I want my  _ family _ back.”

Fingolfin stared at his step-brother. Feanor leaned back and kicked his feet up on the table. “Okay, that’s it,” he grumbled. “That’s all my personal sharing for this year.”

"Are you sure you’re feeling alright today?” Fingolfin had never heard Feanor say more than three words without insulting anyone. "Did Fingon drug your coffee or something? Has the world turned upside down?”

“No, no, and no.” Feanor hopped up. “I don’t suppose you have any bobby pins in that ridiculously long hair of yours? It’s a safety hazard. You should probably cut it.”

“Not more of a hazard than  _ six espresso shots in one drink _ ,” Fingolfin shot back. "You really need to stop that. Also, no. Why?”

“You’ve never watched any spy movies? I need a pointy thing.”

“Like an unbent paper clip?” Fingolfin held one up and did not stab himself in the process. He was quite impressed.

Feanor made an exaggerated surprised face. “Heaven help us all. You’re being intelligent. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” He took the paper clip and started fiddling with the lock.

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Aredhel said, delighted. “They’re having a civil conversation! I’m a genius.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Fingon backed away from the door. “We’d better run.”

“Hey, Maglor! You’ve got an e-mail,” Celegorm hollered.

“What? Oh, okay.” Maglor wandered over to the computer. “Hmm. That’s weird. It won’t download.”

“ _ What _ won’t download?” Curufin asked.

“I swear, every time someone has a computer problem, you just appear. It’s like magic.” Maglor pointed at the screen. “It’s from Gil-Galad, I think. He’s my neighbor. He might be part of Fingon’s extended family, but we don’t actually know. He’s sent me a picture of my cats, but it won’t download.”

“Let’s hope they’re alive,” Curufin grumbled, then: “Maglor, this isn’t a photo. It’s an ASPX file.”

“A  _ what _ ?”

“We use them to feed coordinates into the ship. NASA must have sent us one somehow, only they disguised it for some reason.”

“Feanor can make a better disguise than  _ that _ ,” Caranthir said haughtily.

“Well, it wasn’t him then. Let’s take a look.” Curufin shoved Maglor off the chair and hit a few buttons. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, this is very interesting.”

“ _ What _ ?” Maglor grumbled.

“It’s… well, I  _ think  _ it’s a path. For  _ Hermes _ . Here, look."

"But why would we do that?” Caranthir asked.

"We can't  _ see _ ," the Ambarussa whined.

“Hey, geniuses,” Celegorm said. “There’s a message, too.  _ Hi, y’all, this is Fingon! Maedhros is still alive. Do you hear me? ALIVE. Feanor and I are sending you a supply probe. If you follow this path, it should arrive in about 8 Earth days. More details to come. Also, Gil-Galad was very nice about letting me use his email address. He even has a message for you: “Maglor, you bastard, I’ve been looking after your cats since the day after you left. Next time, hire a goddamn cat-sitter. The black one shredded my couch.” Anyway, that’s it. Bye! _ ” 

Celegorm shook his head. “Yeah, that’s Fingon, all right.”

“Wait, there’s more,” Caranthir said. “ _ Hello, this is Turgon. My brother neglected to mention that this plan is exceedingly dangerous, and that he is technically breaking the law by forwarding it to you. Please, please think this through. Put it to a vote, or battle to the death about it, or whatever you heathens do to make group decisions. Also, if this all goes to shit, I was never a part of it. _

“Classic.” Maglor stood up. “So. What do you think? I know  _ I’ll  _ do it, but Fingon said to vote.”

“I’m in,” Celegorm said. “Honestly, fuck the government. If they think they can stop me from helping my brother, they’re wrong.”

“That’s  _ sedition _ ,” Caranthir pointed out. “But I’m in, too. If any of us were on Mars, you know that Maedhros would do anything to get us home.”

“While I don’t like breaking the law,” Curufin said, “some people are worth breaking laws for. If NASA kicks us out… well, I’ve already spent literal years in space. That’s enough for a lifetime.”

The Ambarussa looked at each other. “We’ll go too,” they said in unison. “You know what Dad used to tell us.”

“We’re the Feanorions,” Caranthir quoted. “We break the rules, blow shit up, and stick together no matter what.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingolfin has a bad day, Maedhros has a worse day, space convertibles are never a good idea, and the Feanorions get a surprise.

Argon sprinted across the compound. This was not a common occurence-- normally, Fingon was the one doing the sprinting-- so by the time he got to Fingolfin’s office, he was quite out of breath.

“They’ve done it!” he gasped, half-falling through the door. “ _ Eris _ \-- Elrond-- they’ve done it!”

“Whoa, slow down,” Fingolfin said. “What did they do? And what does this have to do with Maglor’s cat?”

“You don’t know?” Argon looked around. Behind Fingolfin, Fingon was shaking his head. “Oh yeah. It’s a secret. Sorry.”

“Not anymore,” Fingon grumbled.

“Oh,” Fingolfin realized. “This is about the Incident. The Feanorions are following Feanor’s plan?” (The Finwëan family had a long, long list of Incidents. This was Incident 194. Argon had kept track.)

“Exactly.” Argon sat down with a  _ thump _ . “It’s almost like  _ someone  _ gave them a map and instructions.” He glared at his eldest brother.

Fingon shrugged. “Well, what was I meant to do? Besides, I’m fairly certain the last time six Feanorion brothers agreed on something was… eight or nine years ago. If they’ve all made up their minds, do you seriously think we can stop them?”

“Fair point,” Argon admitted. “So. What do I  _ do _ ?”

“We… uh…” Fingolfin was getting a headache. “Aredhel?”

Aredhel shook her head. “Sorry, Dad, but there’s no way in hell we can play this off.”

“Oh,  _ fuck  _ it.” Fingolfin stood up. “Aredhel, I want a press release detailing the new plan. But leave out the breaking-the-law bit. As far as anyone’s concerned, Fingon came up with the plan, and NASA agreed to it. Turgon, figure out how to modify the MAV. I don’t care if you’re on triple overtime, just  _ do  _ it. Fingon, go find Feanor. I want that supply probe in the air as soon as possible, if not sooner.”

“Way ahead of you,” Fingon said, and dashed off. Turgon jogged after him, grumbling about “stupid brothers and their stupid illegal plans.” 

“And Argon… uh… tell everyone about the new plan. Send out an e-mail or something. By the way, why does it involve Maglor’s cat?”

“Maglor has a cat?”

"Oh, just  _ go _ ." Fingolfin collapsed back into his chair. “They could die,” he said wretchedly. “Why would they put their lives in danger like this? What’s the  _ point _ ?”

“Well, of course they did it!” Feanor said. “They’re his  _ brothers _ . He’s  _ family _ .”

Fingolfin looked up in surprise. He was fairly certain that his office doors had been locked. “ _ We’re  _ brothers,” he said. “Are you seriously saying that if it were me stuck on Mars, you’d put your life in danger to rescue me?”

Feanor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Fingolfin kept talking. “Because I would do it for you. Even though you’re an arrogant, self-centered asshole, I would do whatever it took to save you. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an idiot like that. Maybe I’m naive. But I would follow you to hell and back.”

“You… what…  _ why _ …” Feanor spluttered.

Fingolfin suddenly felt very tired. “Just go away. Fingon’s looking for you.”

Túrin Turambar was getting a second chance.

The first launch had been a complete disaster-- but that didn’t mean  _ this  _ one would be. He’d double-checked everything, even the loudspeaker, and even worn his lucky socks. 

Not that they made him particularly lucky. Other people had good days and bad days: Túrin had bad days and worse days. He had two theories to explain his lack of good karma: 

  1. He’d been cursed.
  2. He’d committed genocide in a past life and was currently being punished.



“Túrin, we gotta go,” Beleg said, tapping him on the shoulder. Túrin snapped out of his reverie and leaned over the mic. “Ten. Nine. Eight,” he said.

Fingon held his breath.

“Seven. Six. Five.”

Back in Lab 4, Feanor stared at the monitor. For once, he didn’t look angry-- only afraid.

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

The supply rocket, which Fingon had christened the  _ Eagle _ , zoomed into the atmosphere. In a few seconds, it had disappeared.

“Yes!  _ Yes! _ ” Turin exclaimed, hugging a very confused Beleg. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t cursed after all.

“You want him to do  _ what _ ?” Fingolfin exploded.

“I want him to get home safely, same as you do.” Turgon flipped his notebook shut. “And this is the only way we’ve come up with.”

“He’ll  _ die _ .”

“No offense, Dad, but that didn’t scare you before.” Turgon sighed. “Look. We’ve run the tests, and the  _ only  _ way to get the MAV into orbit is to take out the seats, take out most of the console, and take off the roof.”

“In other words, we’re sending a man into space in a fucking convertible,” Aredhel summarized. “I hope you guys realize how stupid that sounds. Because I do. And I guarantee you that the press will, too.”

Fingolfin looked completely bewildered. “I thought people  _ liked _ convertibles.”

FEANORION: You want me to do  _ what _ ?

NASA: We assume you got the email. We’ll pilot the MAV remotely, so everything will be fine when you pass out. 

FEANORION: You said  _ when _ .

NASA: Yes. Don’t worry. You’re in safe hands.

FEANORION: Whose hands?

NASA: Celegorm’s.

FEANORION: I’d have better survival odds jumping into shark- infested waters.

NASA: You'll be the fastest human being of all time, if that's any consolation. Now get going.

Up until the storm, Maedhros had spent ninety percent of his life hanging out with engineers and technicians. He knew that they  _ never  _ said words like “fast”. No, it was always “terminal velocity” and “wind shear” and equations that made his head spin. 

“It’s a trap,” he reasoned. “They’re probably hoping I’ll go along with their plan because I like the way it sounds.”

Maedhros thought for a moment. “Well. I  _ do  _ like the way it sounds.”

He was hungry. He was always hungry now, and had more or less gotten used to it. The key was to stay distracted-- he’d wake up, drill holes in the MAV until his hands ached and his eyes stung, then eat his tiny rations and fall asleep.

_ Yes, we all know you’re easily distracted _ . Fingon smirked at him.

_ Shut up _ , Maedhros thought back, then:  _ No, don’t. Don’t leave me. _

The marks he used to keep track of the days had expanded, and now took up an entire wall. He’d listened to Celegorm’s awful music several hundred times, and memorized all of it. (Even “I Will Survive”, which was on the list  _ three times _ . How ironic.) He’d read all the books, and even attempted to play Maglor’s broken ukulele. But mostly, Maedhros just thought.

_ I wish I could see my family again _ . Just for a moment, even if it was one of those days when they couldn’t stop tearing each other apart. Even if Feanor and Fingolfin were brawling like animals. Even if there was another frying pan incident.

_ That  _ had been a weird day. Maedhros smiled at the memory. Even after three years, it was still vivid. He could almost hear something sizzling… 

Maedhros whirled around. “Shit.  _ Shit _ .” He snatched up the drill from where it had fallen, and nearly dropped it. The metal was burning hot, even through his gloves. He’d forgotten to unplug it, and  _ of course  _ it had overheated, which meant that--

Maedhros surveyed  _ Pathfinder _ ’s radio. The drill had left a huge black scorch mark on the metal, which was still hissing. That could not be a good sign. Maedhros tried to ignore the panic rising up inside him and hit the power button.

Nothing happened.

He tried again. Nothing. “ _ Shit _ .” The drill had completely fried  _ Pathfinder _ ’s radio, his only link to NASA-- to Fingon. Curufin might have been able to fix it, but Maedhros wasn’t his younger brother. He could barely  _ recognize  _ a circuit board, let alone fix one.

For the first time, he was really, truly alone.

“What did I do?” Maedhros whispered. “What did I do wrong?” This had to be some kind of punishment-- there was no other explanation-- but  _ why _ ? For his  _ entire life _ , he’d followed the rules, obeyed orders, and kept his brothers in line. 

_ Do what you’re told and everything will be fine _ , Feanor had drilled into his head. Well, Maedhros had done it. But now everything was all wrong, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Maedhros got up. Went inside. Scraped his hair back into a ponytail. (It was all matted now, and had faded from bright red to a mottled brown, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.) Then he picked up the drill and went to work on the MAV. Because he owed it to everyone at NASA to come home alive.

Even if right now, he just wanted to go to sleep and never get up. Even if he didn’t really  _ care  _ whether he got off the Red Planet. 

“God, I miss my ukulele.” Maglor sighed theatrically. “It was my faithful companion for years. I just want to see it again… one last time.”

“If  _ you  _ were stranded on Mars,” Caranthir grumbled, “we could hear you moping from the Houston base.”

“Take that  _ back _ ,” Maglor snapped, his eyes glinting with rage. “We have  _ no clue  _ what our brother is going through right now. So  _ take it back _ .”

“Hey, Mags! We got an email!” Celegorm yelled.

“Celegorm! FLY THE FUCKING SPACESHIP!” Curufin yelled.

Maglor ambled over to the computer. “Huh. It’s from NASA. No secret maps this time, just an email.”

“Well, read it!” Amras chirped.

_ “Hey, y’all! Greetings from NASA! Well, it’s really Fingon, but… you know what I mean. We got a message from Maedhros a few weeks ago, and he said to give it to you. TURGON, YOU HOPELESSLY AWKWARD LAND MERMAID, I KNOW YOU’RE READING THIS. GO AWAY.  _

_ Aaaaanyway, Argon got the email, but he had been awake for like 72 hours and passed out before he could forward it to us. And when he woke up, he forgot about it. Well, it’s a good thing I’m so nosy, because I was poking around and found the message! So here it is.” _ Maglor stopped. “Looks like there’s a message for each of us. We’d better take turns.”

By the end of the message, Maglor was wiping away tears, Celegorm was glaring at the wall, Caranthir’s face was the color of a tomato, Curufin was  _ definitely not crying _ , thank you very much, and the Ambarussa were staring into each other’s eyes, apparently having some sort of telepathic conversation.

“What the fuck is a land mermaid?” Caranthir asked. 

Maglor, Celegorm, and the Ambarussa took one look at him and cracked up. Even Curufin cracked a smile, though his eyes were still red and puffy.

“I miss him,” Maglor said later, when they’d calmed down a bit. “But y’know what? I’m glad  _ you _ aren’t on Mars. I’m glad we’re together-- most of us, anyway.”

“Me too,” Curufin said, then: “Why does everyone look so shocked? I  _ do  _ care about you. Being forced to cohabitate with someone for one’s entire lifetime does have that effect.”

“Aww.” Celegorm slung an arm around his shoulders. “I love you, too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros goes on a road trip, Maglor has doubts, Turgon does NOT have doubts, thank you very much, and Celegorm is surprisingly un-Celegorm-like.

Generally speaking, Maedhros had had some very interesting experiences with road trips.

For example, there was the time Celegorm had gotten arrested for poaching, Maglor had gotten lost and accidentally hitchhiked to Chicago, Amrod had fallen off a swan boat, Amras had nearly gotten his eye pecked out by an angry goose, and Maedhros had nearly crashed the car after Curufin made some “modifications” to the steering wheel. All in the span of two weeks.

But even that couldn’t compare to a road trip on Mars. 

Over the next week, Maedhros microwaved all 248 of his potatoes, built a makeshift tent for the rover, strapped the remains of the MAV to its roof, and plotted out a course to the Schiaparelli Crater. It would take approximately 52 days. 

“Well, this is it,” Maedhros said. He hadn't spoken for three days, and his voice sounded quiet and cracked. “Whether or not I make it, I’ll never see the Hab again.” It was the end of an era-- a miserable era, but an era nonetheless.

On day 859 of the Mars mission, Maedhros boarded the rover and left the camp behind. He didn’t look back.

***

_ Len: turgon _

_ Len: turgon _

_ Len: TURGON!! _

_ Len: seriously Turgon, get in here, we have a PROBLEM. Also get Fingolfin bc I don’t have his number. _

_ Len: Also I think your brother just collapsed. _

_ Turgon: Ok sorry where r u _

_ Turgon: Oh right lab 1 _

_ Turgon: On my way _

***

“What is it?” Turgon skidded around the corner and ran to Elenwë’s side, tripping over his shoelaces on the way. “What’s wrong?”

“This fucking gigantic dust storm is what’s wrong!” Elenwë pointed at her computer screen. “It’s even bigger than the one that wrecked the  _ Eris  _ communications disk. If Maedhros goes into it, he’s  _ done for _ .”

Turgon grimaced. “I wish I could tell you something encouraging right now,” he admitted. “But…”

“But?” Elenwë prompted.

“But I can’t. Either he figures it out on his own, or he dies.” Turgon noticed that his younger brother was slumped over in a chair, not moving. “Argon, you okay?”

“Uggmmmph,” Argon groaned from the floor. “‘m fine, just tired. Who’s dead?”

“ _ You  _ will be, if you tell Finno about this,” Turgon decided. “He’s got more than enough to worry about already. There’s nothing we can do, so why worry?”

“Well, we can hope,” Elenwë said. "And pray, too. Is there a Greek god of fucked-up Mars missions?”

***

"Caranthir?"

"Yeah?"

Are we sure…" Maglor grimaced. "Are we sure this is a good idea?"

"What the  _ fuck, _ Maglor," Caranthir said. "Does it matter? He. Is. Family. And family means no one gets left on a deserted planet for eternity!"

"Did you just quote  _ Lilo and Stitch _ at me?"

"So what if I did?" Caranthir growled. "Look, Maglor. You might be captain, but we outnumber you five to one.  _ We're going back for him. _ "

"That's mutiny!"

"Oh yeah?" Caranthir raised his eyebrows. "I don't care. Celegorm definitely doesn't. The twins and Junior might feel guilty, but they'll do it anyway-- you know how close they are to Mae."

"Stop making me sound so… so unfeeling," Maglor said. "I just want you all to be safe."

"We're in space. Try as we might, we can't be safe. So you'll just have to settle for us being  _ satisfied. _ "

"Satisfied? Not happy?"

"Too late for that," Caranthir said, and went to check on his samples.

***

The solar panels weren’t  _ charging _ .

Maedhros examined their sleek surfaces, then squinted up at the sun. Was he hallucinating, or did the light seem dimmer than usual? He was probably hallucinating, but just in case… Oh no. What if he was going crazy, or losing his vision, or just  _ shutting down  _ like a faulty laptop? What if he hadn’t been careful enough with the RTG, and now he had radiation poisoning? He’d come  _ so far _ . To die now, when he was so close to getting out of this hellscape… He felt sick just thinking about it.

Maedhros forced himself to think this through. What would Feanor do?  _ Make a list _ , Maedros thought.  _ Figure out the facts, then draw conclusions. _ So he did.

  1. The sun was dimmer.
  2. The only thing that could dim sunlight on Mars was a storm.
  3. He’d first noticed something was wrong about a week ago.



From which he concluded the following:

  1. He’d been driving into a dust storm for at least a week, probably longer.
  2. Shit.



***

“He’s going around it,” Elenwë said. “He’s going around it!  _ Yes _ !”

“I told you he was smart!” Turgon exclaimed.

“You did nothing of the sort,” Argon said. “You said, “ _ He’s going to die. I need a drink _ .” Then you left.”

“I always believed in him!” Turgon protested. “How  _ dare  _ you insinuate that--”

“Boys, boys,” Elenwë said. “We should probably tell someone about this.”

***

Days Until Launch: 2

In a fit of desperation, Maedhros read one of Caranthir’s books on maritime law. He had successfully avoided it until now, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

At first, Maedhros had no clue why Caranthir needed to know about  _ maritime law _ , of all things.They were in space, after all, not the Navy. That question was answered when, on page 146, he discovered that space was counted as “international waters.” 

Maedhros shut the book and thought for a moment. By setting up camp and growing plants on Mars, he was technically colonizing international waters. And because he wasn't supposed to be on Mars anymore, he was here without government permission. Which meant that…

"Oh my god," Maedhros said. "I'm a fucking  _ space pirate. _ "

Days Until Launch: 1

The MAV was ready to fly. Supposedly. It  _ looked _ like it was ready to collapse.

Maedhros layered even more duct tape over the sheet of canvas that had replaced the front half of his spaceship. He was probably going to die. Would he fall out of the MAV and eventually asphyxiate? Or would he fly off course and collide with an asteroid?

Well, tomorrow it would all be over. One way or another.

Days Until Launch: 0

***

"Celegorm? Are you ready?"

"For the fourth time in three minutes,  _ yes _ ," Celegorm snapped. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"GUYS!" Amrod shrieked, vaulting over a chair on the way to the console. "We're in range!"

Curufin was glued to the radio. "All right. Three. Two. One…"

The radio crackled. All six brothers held their breath. 

" _ Eris _ , do you read?"

Maglor started sobbing almost immediately. "You have literal  _ years _ to figure out what to say to us," he sniffled. "And  _ that  _ is what you pick?"

"It's protocol," said Maedhros, then: "Oh, to hell with that. I missed you, Kano."

Silence. 

"He's not answering because he's crying," Amras said helpfully. "We missed you too."

"Ambarussa?" It might have been the connection, but Maedhros sounded like he might be crying, too.

"Right!" Curufin said. "We'd better get down to business. All systems go?"

"Go," said Caranthir. 

"Go," said Celegorm.

Back on Mars, Maedhros strapped himself into the chair. His heartbeat hammered in his ears. He had never been so scared in his life. What if the launch went wrong, and his brothers blamed themselves (because of course they would, they always did) and the rest of their lives would be filled with guilt and it would all be Maedhros' fault...

"Maedhros?" Celegorm asked. "You there?"

"Y-yes," Maedhros croaked. "I… I  _ can't. _ "

"Mae." Celegorm's voice was as loud and brash as ever, but his words were surprisingly gentle. "You survived fucking  _ Mars _ . You went through hell for years. You can survive one launch."

Maedhros was silent. Celegorm went on, sounding a bit choked up. "Also… I care about you, okay? I  _ want  _ you to come home, and listen to your awful music, and be disgustingly cute with Fingon. I want you to  _ live _ , Mae, and I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise."

Maedhros took a deep breath. "Go," he said. "And Celegorm, you asshole,  _ no barrel rolls. _ "

"Damn," Celegorm said, but he didn't sound very annoyed. Maybe it was the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is almost over-- final chapter should be up soon!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Feanorions solve their problems with explosions, Maedhros comes home, Argon finally gets some sleep, and Fingon recieves some help from the gods.  
> (Or maybe he just steals someone's bike. It's up to interpretation.)

“Shit,” Celegorm muttered. “He’s off course. He’s  _ way  _ off course.”

“Well, fix it!” Caranthir snapped. “Just change  _ our  _ course or something.” 

“I  _ can’t _ . If we make our path any longer, we’ll run out of fuel.” Celegorm hit a few buttons. “Something must have gone wrong-- the MAV has way too much drag.” 

“It’s the canvas. It must have come loose, and now it’s flapping around like a parachute,” Amras said matter-of-factly.

Caranthir stared at him. “How’d you know that?”

“He just does,” Amrod said. “Why can’t we hear Maedhros anymore?”

“The wind must be too loud,” Curufin said. “Either that or he’s passed out. I just hope he's not concussed. Maedhros?  _ Maedhros _ ?”

There was no response.

“ERIS TO FEANORION!” Celegorm yelled. “COME IN!”

“Aggh,” Maedhros said. “Oh, sorry. Hello. I must have… fallen asleep.” He giggled.

“Yep, he’s concussed,” Curufin grumbled. “Maedhros, you’re way off course. We think the canvas broke.”

“ _ Guys _ ,” Maedhros said urgently. “I have an  _ idea _ . I can poke a hole in my suit, and use the… the oxygen stream to fly to you. Like Iron Man.”

“ _ No _ . No Iron Man!” Curufin yelled. “Maedhros, are you okay? Did you hit your head? Did you inhale any poisonous gas?”

The Ambarussa locked eyes. “Actually…” Amrod hummed. “He’s got the right idea.”

“Curufin, can you make a bomb?” Amras asked.

“What? Yes. Of course I can. Why?”

“If you blow up part of  _ Hermes _ …”

“...and we seal the airlock…”

“...we can use the force of the explosion to fly over to Maedhros...”

“...without using any more fuel.”

“Oh my god, they're right!” Maglor exclaimed. “Celegorm,  _ please _ calm down. Curufin, go blow something up.” 

“I have been waiting for you to say those words for  _ twenty-three years _ ,” Curufin said gleefully. “Suit up, everyone, just in case. Ambarussa, do we have any sugar?”

“Still think Iron Man is better,” Maedhros mumbled.

The bomb worked perfectly. Curufin had known it would.

Eight seconds after he shut the airlock, about a third of  _ Hermes  _ exploded in a burst of flame and vapor. Curufin leaned against the door and let out a shaky breath. Well, it was done, for better or for worse.

“CURUFIN! CURUFIN, IT’S WORKING!” Celegorm hollered from the front of the ship.

“ _ Ow _ ,” Maglor said. “My  _ ears _ .” But he was smiling, too. “What the hell. It worked.”

“So I’ve heard,” Maedhros said through the radio. "What should I do now?”

“Just be ready,” Curufin said.

“Ready for what?”

Curufin counted on his fingers. “Well… death, incineration, dismemberment, and radiation poisoning, off the top of my head. But we’ll be there to pick you up in about five minutes.”

“Right,” Maedhros said, sounding a bit queasy. “And then I hit the eject button?”

“Yes. We’ll tell you when.”

“Guys,” Celegorm said. “We’re still not slowing down. If we’re not careful, we’ll fly right past the MAV.”

“I have an idea,” Maglor said.

“NO!” everyone else yelled. 

“An idea that does  _ not  _ involve karaoke!” Maglor snapped. His brothers visibly relaxed. “ _ Honestly _ , you’re as bad as Mom. I’ll suit up, and someone can reel me out on a cable. That way, if Maedhros is too far away from the ship, I can catch him.”

“He’s, like, two feet taller than you,” the Ambarussa observed. “You’re crazy.”

“But that’s fine,” Celegorm said. “Because we’re all crazy here. Go ahead. Caranthir can take the ship, an’ I’ll reel you out.”

“Three minutes,” Caranthir said. “You’d better get ready.”

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One… Go!” Caranthir shouted into the mic. 

Maedhros took a deep breath and hit the eject button. His head snapped back as he rocketed into space, leaving the MAV behind.  _ This is fine _ , he thought.  _ This is one hundred percent fine. _

Except that it had been at least ten seconds, and  _ Hermes _ still wasn’t slowing down. Why wasn’t it slowing down? What if he flew right past his brothers? Maedhros flailed his arms, trying to generate some air resistance. Then he remembered there was no air in space. 

Maedhros panicked. His ears had started ringing at some point, and his breaths came fast and shallow.  _ I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die I’m gonna die I’m... _

“MAE!” someone screamed into his earpiece. “Take my hand!”

Maedhros twisted around. He knew that voice. Maglor-- brave, loyal, completely insane Maglor-- was flailing his arms and shouting. “Take! My! Hand!”

Maedhros stretched out his hand as far as it could go. And Maglor grabbed it.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then Maglor’s cable snapped taut, and something in Maedhros’ arm cracked as he finally came to a stop. 

“Hey, you okay?” said Celegorm through his earpiece as he hauled them in.

Maedhros thought for a moment. He was painfully thin and probably smelled like shit, his hair was a  _ mess _ , he was hungrier than he had ever been in his life, and he was fairly certain that his arm had just broken. 

And yet there was Maglor, clinging tight to his hand. There were his brothers, waiting for him inside of  _ Hermes _ . (Had the ship always been that small? Maedhros could have sworn it was larger… Was that  _ smoke _ billowing out of the airlock?)

“I think this is the best day of my life,” Maedhros said.

Fingon had been in plenty of nerve-wracking situations before.

He’d once lost his notes for a project and had to complete the entire thing within twenty-four hours. He’d been skydiving once. He’d made it through Thanksgiving dinner with the Feanorions--  _ definitely  _ a legendary feat. But in all his twenty-eight years, he’d never been quite so frazzled.

“Fingon, are you okay?” Turgon asked. “You’ve been pacing back and forth for thirty minutes.”

Aredhel smacked him. “Of course he’s not  _ okay _ , you moron.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Turgon drummed his fingers on the table. “If it makes you feel any better, I am also about to throw up from nerves. We’ve never used this kind of landing gear before, and it’ll  _ probably  _ work, but…”

“Stop talking,” Argon grumbled. 

Aredhel slammed her clipboard down on the table. “Listen up, everyone!” she ordered. “None of us can do anything about _Eris_ right now, because it’s in fucking _space_ and won’t be landing for ten hours. We're gonna go sit on my couch and watch _Downton Abbey_ until we feel better. That is final.”

No one ever argued with Aredhel.

Fingon stayed awake until the start of season two, then curled up and started snoring. When Aredhel went to find Argon, she found him passed out on her bed, limbs spread out like a starfish.

Well, Aredhel thought, her brothers had no appreciation for decent TV shows. She pulled a blanket over Argon and started season three.

No matter how many times the  _ Eris  _ crew practiced landing, they never got used to it.

_ Eris  _ plummeted downward. Maedhros and his brothers were tightly strapped into their seats (“I feel like I’m in a straitjacket,” Caranthir grumbled) but they could see flames out the window as their ship entered Earth’s atmosphere. 

“ _ Celegorm _ ,” Curufin said, looking delighted. “Are you  _ praying _ ?”

“N-no, shut up."

The ship’s parachutes deployed, and  _ Eris  _ touched down on the landing pad. It tilted to one side, then stabilized.

Celegorm threw up.

NASA’s hospital staff appeared to help the brothers out of the ship. They weren’t used to Earth’s gravity yet, and could barely walk. All seven brothers were moved to the hospital for medical exams-- “and showers,” one very disgruntled staff member had added. “No offense, but you smell like rotting garbage.”

After a few hours, Maglor, Celegorm, Curufin, and the twins were cleared to go. Caranthir was having a harder time adjusting and moved around in a wheelchair, but he would be all right. Maedhros was still severely malnourished-- the hospital was giving him nutrients through an IV. He’d passed out as soon as he sat down.

The other six Feanorions gathered around Maedhros’ hospital bed and stared down at their brother.

“D’you think…” Amras trailed off.

“He’ll be fine,” Maglor said, trying to sound reassuring. “He’s got us, and Dad, and Fingon. He’ll get through this.”

“I hope you’re right,” Caranthir muttered. When no one answered, he laughed. “Huh. If this had happened last year, we’d be fighting right now. Instead, we’re talking about feelings.”

“We’ve really come a long way,” Amrod agreed. “Still, it’s kind of sad that we didn’t get our shit together until we thought our brother was  _ dead. _ ”

“Well, at least we figured it out,” Maglor sighed. 

“Yeah-- yeah, we did,” Celegorm said. “Y’all can be assholes, but I love you anyway. Because I’m just  _ that  _ nice.”

Feanor didn't cry.

Not when Nerdanel left. Not when Grandfather Finwë died. Not even when Maedhros was stranded on Mars. No, he just poured himself into his work until he nearly collapsed from exhaustion.

So naturally, the Ambarussa were a bit surprised when Feanor walked into the hospital and practically  _ threw  _ himself at his sons, tears streaming down his face. 

"Hey, Dad, it's okay," Amras said. The seven of them were all clinging to each other, and even Curufin's eyes were red.

"I missed you," Feanor whispered. "My  _ sons.  _ I missed you so much."

"Feanor, I… oh…" Fingolfin stood in the doorway, completely dumbfounded. "I'll come back later."

Without even looking up, Feanor reached out and dragged him onto the pile. Fingolfin squawked in surprise as he landed half on top of Caranthir. "What… why…?"

"I assume you are also happy that the mission went well," Feanor said. "Also, now that my sons are home, your eldest can stop moping around."

"Fingon doesn't  _ mope _ ," Fingolfin said defensively. But despite his angry tone, he didn't pull away.

“ALEXANDER HAMILTON! MY NAME IS ALEXANDER HAMILTON…”

“Uggmmmph. Fingon, turn your phone off!” Aredhel yelled.

Fingon rolled over and picked up his phone. Was that  _ Maglor  _ calling him? “Hey… wait. Shouldn’t you be in space or somethin’?” he asked, still mostly asleep.

“We  _ landed _ , dumbass. I’m calling you because… well, I think you might want to see him. You know.”

Fingon dropped his phone and dashed out the door. Behind him, he could hear Maglor’s voice: “ _ Hey! Fingon! Fingon, where’d you go? Are you okay? Did you get hit by a car? Please don’t die. _ ” Fingon sprinted down four flights of stairs--  _ why  _ did Aredhel have to live on the top floor?-- and out into the street. 

Oh, dear. Where were his shoes? He’d probably left them in the apartment. The compound was at least eight blocks away, and it was morning rush hour-- he’d never get anywhere by car. 

So… what could he do? Fingon looked around. Turgon’s bike was locked to a nearby tree, because Aredhel’s car was  _ tiny  _ and he always biked to work, anyway. Unfortunately, Fingon didn’t actually know his brother’s password. Turno was  _ way  _ too paranoid for his own good, so it wouldn’t be easy to crack. Did it start with a seven? No, that was his phone password.

_ Shit. _ Fingon tried not to panic. Maybe if he just… pulled really hard, the lock would come off? He tried. It didn’t budge. Fingon’s eyes stung with tears. He  _ needed  _ to be there when Maedhros woke up, but without that stupid  _ bike _ … 

“Hey!” 

Fingon looked up. Manwë was waving at him. “Fingon, right? You look like you could use a ride! I have a bike, if that would help. Please don’t steal it.” 

“Oh my god,  _ thank  _ you!” Fingon dashed across the street, ignoring the three cars that honked at him, and hopped on. He hadn’t ridden a bike in years, and Manwë was  _ really  _ tall so his feet could barely reach the pedals, but was that really a problem? “I swear I’ll return it, and I won’t crash or anything.” 

Manwë just smiled.

Fingon pedaled as fast as he could, skidding around corners and nearly running over two pedestrians, three curbs, one manhole cover and a very angry squirrel. Three more blocks, two, one… and then he was there, squealing to a stop in front of the compound. Fingon hopped off Manwë’s bike and sprinted towards the hospital.

“You’re alive,” Maglor noted when he arrived a few minutes later, wild-haired and panting. “Good. He passed out pretty soon after we got here, but he was really excited to see you.”

Fingon pushed past him. Maedhros was asleep on a cot, his hair spread out like a sunburst. He was thinner than Fingon had ever seen him, and there were huge dark circles under his eyes, but… “He’s  _ alive _ ,” Fingon choked out. “He made it.”

“Yes, he did,” Maglor said. “Thanks to you, I’ve heard.”

Maedhros groaned and opened his eyes. “F-finno? That you?”

“Yes,” Fingon whispered. “Yes, it’s me.” And apparently he wasn’t done with crying, because his eyes filled up with tears. 

“You’re real?”

“Course I am. You’re home now, I promise. Well, not  _ home  _ home, because you’re in the hospital, but…”

“I... I  _ really  _ missed you,” Maedhros admitted. “All the damn time. Even when I almost blew myself up and I had a million other things to think about.”

“You. Did. What?” Fingon exploded, then thought better of it. “I mean. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“I know. But…" Maedhros sighed. "I pretended you were there. Whenever things got really bad. I pretended you were with me, and… sometimes, I would hear your voice. And then I started  _ forgetting  _ your voice, and it terrified me, and I know it sounds crazy but I  _ am _ a little crazy now…"

"Mae," Fingon said gently. " _ Maedhros.  _ Look at me."

Maedhros looked up. His eyes were filled with tears. 

"I'm not gonna lie and say everything's okay, because it  _ isn't _ ." Fingon sat carefully on the bed. "But I promise you this: somehow, it  _ will  _ be okay."

"You're here," Maedhros whispered, and pulled Fingon into a kiss. Somehow they were both on the bed, and Fingon was on top of him (which was probably breaking at least three kinds of hospital rules, but Maedhros couldn't care less.) Fingon pulled back for a moment to murmur, "Yes. I'm here, and  _ so are you _ ," and then they were kissing again, and Maedhros almost broke down crying right there because Fingon was  _ here _ , in his arms, and he was warm and real and  _ alive. _

_ Yes _ , Maedhros thought.  _ Yes, that’s it. _

_ I'm alive. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!! This story ended up being much longer than I'd planned, but it was really fun to write. I hope you guys liked it too!
> 
> (Also, lest you think this is unrealistic, I hit my head once and started rambling on about snowmen. The Iron Man conversation makes much more sense by comparison.)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about piloting spaceships-- actually, I don't know anything about spaceships.  
> Next chapter should be up soon!


End file.
